Just Wear That Dress
by Kanji no Sakka
Summary: Gaara fears the nature of his feelings for Matsuri. Since he cannot leave Suna, he sends her away instead. ** This story is not abandoned. Will update soon. **
1. And Some By Virtue Fall

**A/N**: This is the first installment of a multi-chapter story. The title, _Just Wear That Dress_, is a line from the song _Cactus_, the David Bowie cover. ;)

Many, many thanks to **Troublesome Shikamaru Fan** for the cheerleading and beta, and to **Scarlett71177** for always being there. All recognizable characters, locations, and concepts are the property of **Masashi Kishimoto**. No copyright infringement is intended.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: And Some By Virtue Fall<strong>

I did not look up from my work but closed my eyes against the sound. It was intolerable. Impatience ruled her, showing itself in the simple act of eating dates.

"Temari."

With a juicy slurp she dropped the last seed onto her plate and swallowed. "Sorry, Gaara."

That she no longer concerned herself with my petty irritations was further evidence I was a changed man. But I still had limits. I wished her to go and go now.

"You don't need to wait for me." I closed one scroll and opened another, smoothing it flat upon the desk. "I will meet you in the council room."

Temari did not move and merely licked her fingers before she turned the next page of her book. "I don't understand why you're dragging this out," she said, making an effort to sound more casual than accusatory. "She's been waiting outside for ten minutes and you keep signing papers."

"My signature is required on many things," I said, ignoring her point. "It is a Kage's responsibility."

"So is sending your people away on missions." Temari suddenly snapped the book shut and got to her feet. "And yet you've been signing your name slower than you did when you first learned to write."

Although Temari would never dare to lecture me, she always spoke her mind if she felt it was right, and I valued her thoughts. Even when I knew I didn't want to hear them. I dipped the brush in ink and began writing again.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you're stalling, brother, and it won't get any easier. She is your friend and I know you count them dearly, but let her go. The sooner she leaves, the sooner she will be home again."

When had I become so transparent?

It was true. The Kazekage had chosen Matsuri for this assignment. The Kazekage was willing to send her to distant Iwagakure, knowing her intelligence and gentle ways would serve to strengthen the relationship between our villages and lands. The Kazekage was prepared to endure her absence. I, Gaara, was not.

In the beginning, all those months ago, I had set out only to befriend Matsuri. She was alone, without any family, but her heart remained with the village and I admired her dedication. I offered her purpose, entrusted her with tasks. I spent countless hours with her, sharing my interest in cacti and glassworks while in return she taught me the pleasure of music and painting. She was strong, bright, and resilient, and in time I began to rely on her faith and purity of spirit.

I had not known what would happen.

A breeze drifted in off the desert, through the south window and back out through the north, announcing that the cool of early morning was over. The air that now surrounded me was scorching, stifling. Perhaps it was only my sense of shame.

The print on the tedious bureaucratic scroll before me slowly blurred out of focus. In its place sprang the vivid memory I both cherished and reviled. I could hear the primal music again…see Matsuri among the festival dancers, her lithe body arching and undulating as she performed for our people…the ritual dance of life that had bound the men and women of Suna for generations. Every detail of her dress conspiring with the seductive moves to reveal only glimpses of curved and creamy skin, the fabric shot with gold thread and beads that flashed like fire in the sunset. I could feel that fire even now, and imagine she had danced only for me...

The Kazekage had presided over that festival, official robes and hat veiling him in respectful silence. It was I, Gaara, whose flesh had burned to join with hers…to possess, taste, ravage. It was I who nearly lost control as the carnal madness crept into my wild senses. Until that night I had believed myself free, separated from the old ways through my death and return to life. But I was not. Shukaku, it seemed, had left a deeper scar upon me, and I was not the normal man I wished to be.

I once told Naruto that I knew how to be a friend, that I understood the word's meaning. But many weeks had passed since the festival and I had not yet regained balance. Each time I was near Matsuri I felt the fiery madness stir again. She didn't know. She could never know, and her trusting smiles haunted me. It was best if she were safe. Beyond my reach until...

"Gaara, are you all right?" Temari was still waiting.

"Yes," I said, but it was a lie.

I had been wishing Temari would go so that I might suffer this goodbye without an audience, but now I was uneasy. Perhaps it would be wise if she remained to act as an unwitting chaperone? No. If Kankuro were here he would remind me that I cannot let personal feelings get in the way. It was too late for that, but it didn't matter; the Kazekage would never fear the charms of a beautiful girl.

I finished signing my name and set the brush aside. Rising from my chair, I met Temari's gaze. "I will see you in the council room. Please send her in as you leave."

She moved toward the door, sparing a final glance of concern for me. Nodding, I turned away toward the south window and focused on the shimmering line where earth met sky. It was no strain to overhear the words of support Temari offered, encouragement to a young woman who would soon find herself in a world very different from her own. I was grateful for my sister's kindness.

Their brief conversation over, they exchanged sides of the threshold. I heard the door close and each of her footsteps as she drew near. I could smell her perfume. This was only a formality. Believing myself prepared, I turned to face her.

"Matsuri."

"Kazekage-sama," she said, her eyes averted out of respect.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

And I meant it, now that I was with her. She was dressed in travelling clothes, ready to leave upon my final instructions, and I regretted those minutes we might have shared. I noticed that her hands held a small ceramic pot. It contained the delicately-spined cactus I had given her, the one she had been growing the last few months with my help.

"I understand. You are an important man."

"I asked Baki to attend to all the details. Has he put you at ease? Do you have everything you need?" I said, at a loss for better, less official words.

Still she did not look at me. "Yes. Sensei is waiting for me outside. He is anxious to leave."

"That is because Baki knows the Iwa nin are expecting your arrival in a few days. He knows this is an important mission of cultural exchange, and that if you are late the Tsuchikage will be merciless in his criticism."

"Then I will not be late. I will serve Suna well, Kazekage-sama. I won't fail."

There was a trembling in her voice I had not heard since the first days of our friendship. I resisted the strong impulse to lift her chin.

"I know. I have faith in you, Matsuri."

Her dark eyes finally met mine then, so large and clear I could see my own reflection. A shy smile curved her mouth, and I knew my simple words of praise had made her blush. I could feel the heat of the blood beneath her skin…sense that her heart was beating faster. As was my own.

"Could you — would you look after Ki-chan while I'm away?" she said, indicating the cactus she held.

I didn't know she had named it. As if it were a child.

"Yes, I will. Don't worry."

I watched her face as she placed the pot in my hand, her fingers resting against mine for a few moments before they slipped away. I did not understand how a touch so soft, so innocent, could burn like a brand.

"You will write to me." It was spoken as the Kazekage's order, for I, Gaara, had no right to ask it of her.

"Yes, if you wish, Kazekage-sama."

Silence fell between us.

"Well, Baki-sensei is waiting. I should not try his patience even before we've left the village," she said, meeting my gaze once more. "If there is nothing else, then—"

I searched for conversation that could hold her here, but Temari was right. I had to let go. This had been the Kazekage's decision. My decision. It was for her sake.

"Only this," I said. "Beware the Tsuchikage's methods. He has proved himself an honorable ally, but he is a volatile man — one whose pride can drive him to ruthlessness. You will be in his service at my personal sacrifice, to learn about their culture and enlighten him as to our own. I expect him, and his people, to respect you. To insult you is to insult the Kazekage. If you are mistreated in any way I will know, and they will _all_ answer to me."

I had not known I would say those words, or mean them with such conviction.

"Gaara—" she whispered, a sudden shine in her eyes.

She had spoken _my_ name. In the space of a heartbeat the fuse of madness had been lit. The hissing sparks raced along my veins while instinct clawed at my resolve. Unwilling to stop and think I stepped closer, a ribbon of sand gently coiling its way around her wrist.

"Matsuri, I—"

The door to the Kazekage's office opened and Kankuro burst in. The sand hovered like mist in the air around us, scattered by my guilty conscience. These dark feelings I could not control, the very reason she must go. In the seconds that remained I tried to memorize her, the almost unearthly expression of trust on her face. She was my friend.

"I wish you…safe journey."

"Thank you, Kazekage-sama," Matsuri said, her voice so soft that I doubted Kankuro had heard it.

Bowing, she turned to leave. She bowed slightly before Kankuro as well, then moved past him and disappeared from my sight. He craned his neck to watch her walk down the hall, and when the sound of her footsteps began to fade on the stairs he finally faced me once more. Tipping his head in the direction she had gone, he let out a low whistle of appreciation that set my teeth on edge.

I leveled my gaze at my brother. "What is it you want, Kankuro?" I said coolly.

He gave no answer until the entire scene had fully registered. Very little ever escaped his notice.

"I see she's left you with a raging prickly pear," he said, using his chin to point in my direction.

He did not mean the potted cactus Matsuri had left in my care, but I refused to encourage his academy-level sense of humor by admitting any embarrassment. I returned to my desk instead, set the cactus in a safe place on the corner, and sat down.

"What is it you want, Kankuro?" I repeated.

I stared at him, irritated by the self-satisfied grin on his unpainted face. It was times like this when he most reminded me of our father. It wasn't Kankuro's choice to look so much like him, but it was his choice when he acted like him. That smile – the one fashioned at someone else's expense – was Father's, and I was pleased to watch it fade.

"The council is getting restless," said Kankuro. "They want to get the meeting over with before the heat of the day."

"All right," I said. Still I made no move to go.

"All right…what?" His hands resting on his hips, he was as impatient as Temari. "What should I tell them?"

I wished to say that I would not be bullied by my own staff – or my brother, for that matter – but I would not. I sighed such that he could hear me, and that was message enough.

"Tell them I will be there in a few minutes."

"Got it." Kankuro stepped back through the door, and before pulling it closed, said, "I'll give you some time alone with your, uh, cactus."

He sometimes placed too much trust in my reclamation.

Finally and mercifully alone, I closed my eyes and tried to restore my sense of calm. My heart was still beating wildly and I was at a loss to explain my actions. This had all begun with a simple dance. This desperation…the incoherent lust that Shukaku had used to control me, to blind me to all reason…for so long it had been gone. No trace. Why did it threaten only this girl?

Even now the thought was in my mind to use the Third Eye – if only to see her again, to follow her, to watch her as long as I could until she has passed beyond the border of Suna. I had believed that if I sent her away it would stop. What insanity was this?

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes again was her cactus, Ki-chan, and despite everything I wanted to smile. I could not lose myself and all that I have gained. Every man must be greater than the sum of his frailties. Through prayer and meditation I would restore control. I would devote myself to work and studies.

The Kazekage had responsibilities, and the council was waiting.


	2. Our Doubts Are Traitors

**A/N:** Many thanks to **Scarlett71177** for the support and beta. All recognizable characters, locations, and concepts are the property of **Masashi Kishimoto**. No copyright infringement is intended.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Our Doubts Are Traitors<strong>

"Don't think the worst of me for saying this," said Kankuro, slouching against the wall, "but peace is boring."

He often came here to speak to me while I focused on other interests. This studio had been built down the hall from my personal rooms in the tower, converted from unused office space at my request. Some members of the council had protested – because no Kage had ever asked such a thing before – but I dismissed their objections as old-fashioned. It was a modest room, furnished with a workbench, a growing collection of tools and glass torches, select pieces of Bokuyo's brilliant stained glass, a small terrace for my cacti, and a pair of chairs. One was empty, as my brother was too restless to sit.

"I do not agree, but I can appreciate your frustration," I said, my attention on the soldering iron I held as I carefully placed molten drops of lead to a foil seam between two pieces of colored glass. "Shinobi are bred for action."

"Then how can you stand it, Gaara?"

It was the hesitation before he said those words that told me what he was thinking. That Father had bred me to become the ultimate shinobi of this village, a relentless weapon with no capacity for benevolent purpose. I did not blame Kankuro. The miracle of my transformation – of my escape from that destiny – was not easy to comprehend or fully trust. I had begun to question it myself, had I not?

"The answer lies in finding other constructive pursuits," I said.

Kankuro was grinding his teeth. "But you're the Kazekage — above all other shinobi. Doesn't all this sitting around drive you insane?"

"I am sitting, yes, but not _sitting around_. Making windows for the new culture and arts center is a worthy use of my time." I paused to adjust the work lamp above me. "The Kazekage must lead by example, Kankuro, and I will help shape Suna's new future with my own hands. It is what we all should do."

"I've been thinking about today's council meeting," said Kankuro, ignoring my attempt at advice. His tone suggested he was about to seek my indulgence instead.

"What of it?"

"Well, if that band of hellions from Yagukure is trying to start trouble, then—" He hesitated, as if he feared proving himself too anxious.

"Then?"

"Well, maybe I should take a few men and do some reconnaissance — go out and meet them before they can cause any sort of trouble for Suna. Just because it's peacetime we shouldn't get soft, and it would be good training, don't you think?"

I began to run another line of molten lead on the next foil seam. From the corner of my eye I could see he was watching me, awaiting my answer.

"If it is training you wish, I will fight you," I said.

"That's not what I—"

I let him founder.

"Forget it," he said finally, back to grinding his teeth. "I was only trying to be proactive."

"The intel I have received indicates they pose no serious threat, only bored young men with no direction," I said with a smile, certain it would annoy him. Kankuro drew breath to argue, but I did not allow it. "And if, for some reason, they were headed for our village, they would first have to pass through the Land of Fire. Naruto would have the rabble dealt with long before they could reach the Wind's border. There is no action we need take."

Kankuro pounded the back of his head against the wall several times and growled. "I'm just not like you, Gaara. Not the new you, anyway. I can't be satisfied like this."

"Like this?" I stopped my work for a moment and looked him in the eye. "What do you mean?"

"I mean all this arty stuff," he said, waving his hand impatiently at the room. "I mean the cactus growing and the yoga. The meditation. This stained glass stuff and the daily music appreciation hour. The celibacy. I can't do it. I'm not…I'm not a monk."

I had not expected him to strike a nerve.

My recovery had allowed a closeness with my siblings that I could not enjoy in my former life. For so long I had kept to myself, torturing anyone who strayed too close. Kankuro and Temari had endured, then forgiven and accepted me – all gifts of the spirit I would not take for granted. But despite the bond I now shared with my brother, his boldness often shocked me. There were boundaries that I, Gaara, might be willing to cross that the Kazekage should not. I was still learning how to speak of private matters.

"I am no monk, Kankuro. You, of all people, should know this," I said.

I did not mean my history as a demonic sociopath. Kankuro had not failed to mention the most recent evidence of my worldly inclinations whenever he could. It amused him greatly, and eventually I was forced to forbid him from speaking the words 'prickly pear' in my presence.

"It's not the absence of lust that makes someone a monk, Gaara," he said, unusually to the point. "It's knowing lust — wanting something — someone — but choosing to deny yourself that pleasure. That's the very definition of monk."

It was my turn to founder.

"I am not denying myself. I—"

"Oh, right, right, right," he said, interrupting. He snapped his finger and thumped the heel of his hand against his forehead in mock forgetfulness. "That's why you sent her away. Because you're _not_ denying yourself."

Her? When had Matsuri become _her_?

I remained silent, unable to think of a comfortable response that was not an outright lie.

"Big deal. So you're hot for a girl," Kankuro went on casually, gripping the back of the empty chair and leaning forward. His boredom appeared to have vanished for the time being, as he considered this subject one of his areas of expertise. "It happens." He laughed. "Hell, it's happened to me with two different girls this week. Why are you making it a problem?"

"You don't understand."

"Then enlighten me."

He met my gaze unwaveringly, and for the first time I considered sharing my thoughts…considered revealing the feelings and fears I have had for Matsuri these last months. I sought the counsel of others when it came to the welfare of Suna; was Matsuri not as important to me as the village? Had Kankuro not earned my absolute trust? Perhaps I could confide in him, if only I knew what to say.

The soldering iron suddenly felt very hot in my hand. I set it and the lead solder on the workbench to cool, and faced my brother once more.

"I am not a normal man."

Kankuro laughed again. "That's really ironic, you know? Because admitting you want Matsuri is _by far_ the most normal thing you've ever told me about yourself."

Had I admitted I wanted her? Even to myself?

"I am the Kazekage." Uneasy now, I rose and moved to stand at the archway to the terrace, the view of the sun setting on the village serving to remind me of my responsibilities. "I am in a position to admit nothing."

"Well, granted, the rest of us mere mortals aren't so elite or sophisticated."

I stared straight ahead and said, "I don't understand what that is supposed to mean."

"It means that _I_ would have put her shapely assprint in the sand a long time ago — no soul-searching required."

"Kankuro."

"My point is," he said, dismissing my warning as easily as his own crudeness, "only _you_ would go this far to resist her. And I get it — to a certain extent. You have to worry about the burden. About being a symbol. You're under constant scrutiny. It's about control."

"Yes."

"But Gaara, no one — not even the uptight council — expects you to live this way. You're right — you're the _Kazekage_, not some temple priest sworn to renounce the sins of the flesh. You're allowed to have a life."

"The flesh is a realm I know well," I said.

"Okay, _that's_ interesting," said Kankuro, jumping to the easiest, most juvenile explanation. "Have you been holding out on me? Is there something you haven't told me?"

"There is much you do not know."

I had my brother's full attention as he waited for me to continue, and yet I did not know how to explain. At this moment Kankuro still believed, as I once had, that all the dark thoughts within my mind had gone. That I was changed. He knew nothing of my renewed conflict, and telling the truth about it now was a risk.

I closed my eyes and recalled the festival dance once more, bringing the sensation of madness to the edge of my mind so that I might try to describe it.

"It began the night of the last festival," I said, my voice suddenly unfamiliar to my own ear. "When I watched Matsuri dance. I lost control."

"What happened? What did you do, Gaara?"

The feeling behind his words seemed more curiosity than concern. Arms folded, I returned my gaze to the expanse of the desert, watching the thin clouds of dust and sand blowing along the ground.

"My thoughts and reason blurred — darkened until I could think of nothing but her — her body — the blood that heated her flesh, and the spirit within her. I — I was not myself." Confusion and shame made my throat too dry to speak without pain. "I burned, Kankuro, as if Shukaku was still there — whispering in my mind. Controlling me."

"You — you wanted her blood? To kill her?" he said, his voice a near-whisper.

Now he was concerned, and it sounded as if he had pushed off from the wall and was standing closer.

"I don't know."

"_Don't know_? What do you mean you _don't know_?"

"I do not know the words to express what I felt."

"This is pretty important, Gaara," Kankuro said gravely. "I think you need to try."

He was right. It was important. Important that I hold myself accountable. Gathering my thoughts and the necessary courage to continue, I took a moment to pray for the return of my better self. For a return to the days when I was free and knew nothing of this madness.

"I wanted to…own her. To overpower her, and then taste…consume her…defile her. I—"

My brother's laughter abruptly filled the room. The pang of humiliation I felt at having trusted him quickly flared to anger, and I turned to face him. His hand was already raised to plead for my forgiveness.

"Why do you laugh?" I demanded.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm sorry," he said, but I did not believe him. He was wearing Father's smile again. "It's just that — well, _defile_ is a monk's word, but other than that you just described what every man feels when he sees a woman he wants to, uh, have sex with."

I knew how Kankuro and his friends viewed women – the tactless things they often said and did to them – and knew he was cleaning up his language for my benefit. Not because I was the Kazekage, but because of his assumption that I was naïve. It only proved that he still did not understand, nor did he realize the full scope of my past depravity.

"It was not simply about sex," I said, unable to hide my disillusionment. "It was something else. Something frightening to me."

"I'm sorry, Gaara," Kankuro said soberly. "I won't laugh again. I want to help."

I turned away again, not willing to let him read my expression. The shadows cast by the rows of homes and shops were stretching and merging, and in an hour's time the village would be swallowed by the night.

"When I was one with Shukaku…my inner world was a morbid wilderness of chaos and lust, and for many years I indulged every horrifying whim and fantasy — desperate to fill the loneliness and find purpose in my existence. Naruto showed me the path out of that darkness, and then — when I died and was given life again — I was finally liberated. I could be a truly decent man. More than the sum of my past actions. I could be deserving of love."

"And now?"

"That night of the festival…the chaos and lust returned, and every day since I have feared for Matsuri."

"Only Matsuri?" Kankuro asked, as if he were collecting data for an equation.

"Yes."

"So you sent her away."

"Yes."

"Okay, but—"

He was about to smooth it all away, to find an easy explanation, but I refused to hear it. I began to pace like a caged animal.

"She is my friend, Kankuro. Don't you understand? A fatherless girl who has placed her trust in me. What man is there to protect her if it is the Kazekage himself who puts her in the greatest danger?"

Kankuro blocked my path and I was forced to meet his gaze.

"So the night of the festival you wanted to kill Matsuri?" He stared without flinching, trying to read me. Trying to see into my soul. "And every day since you've wanted to kill her? Think about it, Gaara. Is that what you're saying?"

Tears stung my eyes.

"Is it?" He was close to shouting.

"_I don't know!_"

Kankuro was pressing me in way he had never dared before, and I did not know how to answer his questions. I raked claw-like fingers through my hair and shut my eyes against the idea. The image of Matsuri's beautiful face loomed in my mind – her laughter and soft touch, the smell of her perfume perfectly preserved in my memory. I could not bear the thought of hurting her.

I had to restore my sense of calm. Where was my honor? My bravery? This was no way for the Kazekage to behave, even in the privacy of his own rooms. Fear and misery would not dictate my actions. Taking a deep breath, I chose to stand straight and face my brother. To face the truth.

"All I know, Kankuro, is that when I am near her the madness is intolerable and I cannot control myself. I need, somehow, to take her flesh and spirit into my own — as if — as if she has become the new meaning of my existence. That urge confuses me — frightens me — as I have not felt such an imperative since Shukaku's demands for blood. I don't know what else it could mean."

Kankuro took several steps back then, as if he no longer had a reason to challenge me. Rubbing his hand across the back of his neck in an almost defeated way, he whistled.

"I don't blame you for being scared," he said. "You're right — it's a hell of a frightening thing."

I was disappointed by the finality of his statement. Was there nothing that could be done?

"In what way is that helping me?"

"Oh, it's not." Apparently Kankuro forgot he had agreed not to laugh again. "I think you're already beyond help."

Out of patience for this practice of confession, I moved onto the terrace and pretended to examine each of my cacti. "As usual, I do not understand what you mean, or what you find so amusing," I said.

Kankuro had followed me and was standing in the archway now. "You say you don't know what else this feeling for Matsuri could mean, but I do," he said.

I reached tiny Ki-chan, Matsuri's cactus, on the end of the middle shelf. I tested the strength of its tender spines with the tip of my finger, watching them shine in the fading sunlight.

"And?"

"Well, I hate to be the one to break the news to you, brother, but you don't want to kill Matsuri," Kankuro said, a strange lilt in his voice. "You're in love with her."

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><p>It was late.<p>

I had been here, lying on the roof of the new cultural center for some hours now. Long enough that the moon was high in the sky. Long enough that sand had gathered and become charged, like metal shavings on a magnet, and formed a perfect outline around my body. I had been here long enough. But after Kankuro's visit I had needed the escape, to be alone with my thoughts and the plans I had for the future.

Neither were the same as they had been when this day began.

At first I had sought refuge in the company of Bokuyo, the artisan whose handcrafted stained glass graced the windows I was making for this building. He took me to his workshop again; it was little more than a cave in the dense clay of the southern cliffs, with a vented furnace large enough to heat several types of molten glass at a time. A practitioner of the rarest form of alchemy, Bokuyo blended our native sand with precious metals and his own chakra to create thin panes of glass, the colors and texture beyond nature itself. His family had been making glass in Suna for many generations, and I was proud to honor their service in a new way.

Then Mariko, Bokuyo's wife, had insisted I share their evening meal. I could not dishonor them with a refusal. It was pleasant, at least until she served fig yokan for dessert. But I finished it before I bowed and left, proving that I could master my disgust when necessary. It was more tolerance than I had been able to show my brother earlier.

Kankuro had gone on to say that Temari had predicted my feelings for Matsuri from the beginning. That they had made a bet between them – a bet Kankuro had lost today with my so-called admission of love. It was upon those words I had ordered him from my sight. Temari was fortunate to be in Konoha with the Nara clan; by the time she returned my wrath will have faded.

And I was punishing Kankuro too harshly, I knew. He had begged me to see the humor in it but I could not. It wasn't his fault. I could not expect him to understand what I did not understand myself.

Who was I to love an innocent girl?

This chaos – the aching need – it had deepened the stain of my shameful past. In the beginning I was a victim, yes. I was Shukaku's defenseless puppet. But in time that changed and Shukaku became my excuse. It was I, Gaara, who committed those unspeakable acts. It was I who had satisfied every dark, violating need – terrors that only I and the beast now sealed away had survived. Such a stain should never mark another soul.

I believed in my reclamation. I _was_ changed. Repentant. But could I swear on Matsuri's life that would always be so?

She was safe from me for now.

The desert had cooled along with my temper, and despite the moon the night was rich and dark, the stars more like jewels than I remembered. How many sleepless hours had I spent, fearing for my soul and staring at the heavens, searching the inky blackness for relief? I found no more now than I had then.

I left for home, wind singing in my ears as I skimmed a few rooftops along the way. The homes and businesses were dark, the villagers long asleep. Apart from the manned guard posts, I might have been the last person still awake.

A bedside lamp had been left on for me, and the moment I landed on the window ledge of my private room I saw Matsuri's letter. Kankuro had gone through the post and found it, I was sure, slipping it under my door as a way of making amends.

I would apologize to him tomorrow.

Jumping down, I removed my sandals and put them in the hallway outside the door. It was a signal to the staff not to enter my rooms; a signal that I was at home and did not wish to be interrupted. As was the custom, the pale silken sheets on my bed had been turned down, and the sheer curtains – meant for privacy and protection from insects – had been lowered.

Sleep could wait. I would read her letter now. Drawing the curtain back, I sat on the edge of the bed, carefully unfolding the paper and leaning into the light…

_Dear Kazekage-sama,_

_I want to believe my visit here is going well, but I don't know for certain. It isn't easy to tell._

_This is such a different world. The culture here is more like a competitive military camp than a growing community. Everything is structured and ordered, graded for its purpose and utility rather than any pleasure it might bring. _

_There is a rugged beauty here, in the land, the wildlife, the view from the mountains, in their songs and dance and art. But they don't seem to define it or connect with it the same way we do. _

_The Iwa are very proud, as you know. Their cold and blunt manner takes time to accept. But they have a deep reverence for their way of life. It is unspoken, as if to say it aloud would weaken them, and instead is woven into the fabric of their society, into their very beings. It is the strong devotion to these ideals, I think, that makes it difficult for them to view another culture such as ours with equal respect. _

_You have given me a great challenge, Kazekage-sama, but I am making inroads. Each day I hope to learn something new from the clans of Iwagakure, and hope to reflect only the best of Suna to them in return. _

_I have met several of the Kage's staff who seem genuinely interested in my work here. It seems the Tsuchikage has copied your idea and recently appointed his own cultural ambassador. The son of a ranking council member, his name is Setsuji. Like you, he is young and has his eyes on a better future for his people. He is mindful of tradition and history, but at the same time open to different ways and new ideas. I look forward to working with him in the coming weeks._

_I don't yet understand how things work here, and it leaves me with a strange feeling. I am relying on you for insight and guidance. I have remembered your final words to me, but there has been no reason to worry. The Tsuchikage has been accepting and very generous. I have settled in and feel welcome enough._

_I do miss the warm sun and soft sand, and all that makes Suna my home. I hope you are still listening to music when you can. It's good for your soul._

_May this letter find you well, Kazekage-sama._

_Yours sincerely, Matsuri_

I had read every word and imagined the look of concentration on her fine features as she wrote them, the graceful movement of the brush in her hand. I could see her smile as she thought of her home here.

My heart was beating too fast to think of denial.

I loved her.


	3. They Stumble That Run Fast

**A/N**: Many thanks, as usual, to **Scarlett71177** for her endless support. All recognizable characters, locations, and concepts are the property of **Masashi Kishimoto**. No copyright infringement is intended.

And yes, I know Chiyo's mechanical bird is anime-only, but I wanted to use it anyway. Please indulge me.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: They Stumble That Run Fast<strong>

_A few silken strands of her hair fall across my face, teasing and tickling as she leans in. I manage an uneasy but fascinated stillness as her fingertip, soft and light as a warm feather, glides along the black markings that line my closed eyes. First one, then over the bridge of my nose to the other, tentative and curious as if she expects them to smudge._

_She is humming quietly in my ear, a lullaby variation of the first song she ever played for me on her komabue. The song is beautiful and gentle, like her, but it does not soothe my soul. _

_This intimacy…it is alien. She should not be so near. She should not be in my bed. _

_No one touches me._

_No one has ever wished to._

_And yet…I feel her lips brushing against mine and I want so much to let go – to belong with her. I want to believe her kiss will heal me. That it will draw the fear and loneliness from me like poison from a wound…_

My eyes opened to a hazy, white world and I remembered then – how I had sunk backward onto my pillows to think after reading Matsuri's letter – to imagine where she had been when she wrote it, what she was wearing, the smell of her perfume. I had fallen asleep, and the loose edge of the curtain that hangs around my bed had somehow blown across my face in the early morning breeze. I pushed it away.

It had only been the curtain.

Matsuri's letter was beneath my hand, pressed against my chest. There was no reason to reread it; I had memorized every word last night. _I am relying on you for insight and guidance_, she'd written. _I am relying on you. _Was it wrong that I had been so pleased? Wrong to hope that it was I, Gaara, she might wish to rely upon and not the Kazekage?

Not wrong, perhaps, but it was a mistake. It had been the Kazekage, after all, who officially sent her on the mission and ordered her to write him of her progress. It had been the Kazekage who guaranteed his support and protection. I, Gaara, had said nothing. Had offered her nothing. What reason did Matsuri have to rely upon me as a friend?

Although I stared at the adobe ceiling of my room, I saw only those last moments between us before she left…the expression on her face when she said my name, the shine in her eyes. She had not shied away from me, even when my sand began to wind around her wrist. If she had known of my feelings for her – of my conflict – would she have tried to run? What did she really think of me?

I had not allowed either of us to know the truth.

The clock on my bedside table read a quarter before six. I still could not sleep like a normal person.

In a few hours I would have to be at the academy to review student test scores and observe the graduation. Monitoring the training of our future shinobi was an important part of my responsibilities, but I dreaded the ceremony. There, more than any other event, I was the unwilling center of attention.

And to make matters worse I would have Kankuro to deal with. Peacetime notwithstanding, he continued to take his role as my body guard very seriously and would no doubt insist upon accompanying me to the school. Kankuro and a class of excited children were not a good combination, and being forced to devote extra energy to preempting his sadistic tendencies was not a pleasant prospect.

I often wished he was not so much like Father.

On the positive side, the staff would have my uniform clean and ready. I had already informed them I had no intention of wearing the robe and hat to the graduation; that was old-fashioned dress for the future protectors of this land. So there was little I needed to do this morning to prepare, only wash the body and steady the mind – the latter being easier said than done.

_I do miss the warm sun and soft sand, and all that makes Suna my home._

I had not considered how much Matsuri might miss Suna. She was a kunoichi, and like all shinobi she knew that we could be sent anywhere for any length of time in the service of our village and its people. It was our chosen life. She had not been complaining; Matsuri would never complain. But I knew from my own experience that Iwagakure was harsh in many ways, and I understood how she might long for the familiar comfort of home.

The thought of her surrounded by so much cold, unyielding rock while representing the home she loved had given me an idea.

Still in the clothes I was wearing last night, I slipped quietly from my room and moved down the hall to the studio. It was far too early for Kankuro, and no one else in the tower would disturb me until I retrieved my sandals from outside my bedroom door. I could work in peace and quiet.

Within an hour I had the workbench set up and lit the torch. I chose materials from among Bokuyo's finest; a thicker rod of clear glass, one brilliant red, one of deep amber, and a golden yellow. After heating each of the colored rods and making stringers, I heated the end of the clear rod until it was a molten mass of orange. One after the other, I applied the colored stringers at random, trusting in a unique final design. Once the colors had melted into the clear glass, I gently blew a small bubble into the pipe to hollow out the center.

Satisfied with the size, I carefully attached a thin rod to the bottom of the pendant to serve as a handle, and detached the pipe. I heated tweezers in the torch flame and slowly pulled on the mouth of the pendant, stretching the glass up and over to form a small loop. I made certain the loop was closed before adding a series of small depressions along the remaining edge of the mouth. Detaching the handle from the bottom, I held the end of the pendant in the flame just long enough to smooth away the tool marks.

I was putting my creation in the kiln to cool slowly when Kankuro knocked on the studio's open door.

"Sorry to bother you," he said.

"It's fine. Good morning," I said, my back to him.

"Did you have a rough night?"

"Why do you ask?" I secured the kiln's door and rechecked the temperature and timer before I faced my brother.

"Because you're in yesterday's clothes — so my guess is you haven't slept."

I had not seen myself in the mirror yet today, but felt certain I could not look worse than he did. Whatever Kankuro had done with his time last night, I did not want to know. Nevertheless, his tone seemed one of genuine concern, and it reminded me that I had intended to apologize when I saw him again.

"A couple of hours," I said with a shrug. "Kankuro, I am sorry for my behavior yesterday. I—"

"Forget it."

I nodded, grateful – in this instance, at least – for his cavalier nature.

"Thank you for delivering Matsuri's letter to my room," I said, turning away to clean up the workbench.

"I figured you might want to read it in private." When I did not reply he continued. "So? How is she?"

"She seems well. Her mission is progressing." I gathered the glass rods I had used and, one by one, gently placed them back in the stand. "She shared some very interesting initial insights into Iwa culture."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him shake his head. "Doesn't sound like a very sexy letter," he said, folding his arms.

"It was an official communication, Kankuro." I sighed. "Although…she did say she missed Suna."

"Uh huh. Okay. Suna? Or its leader?"

I regretted offering that last detail and began to feel irrationally defensive again. It wasn't fair. My brother did not know it was the very question I had been asking myself since last night.

"I have not given Matsuri a reason to miss me," I said, looking him in the eye once more.

"And that's your entire problem, Gaara," he said loudly, flashing a toothy, lascivious smile. "You really need to, uh, _give it to her_ — and the sooner the better."

He stopped short of saying I was becoming too volatile and unpredictable to live with again, but I recognized the edge of fear hidden in his words. I had been quite unreasonable yesterday.

"Tell me, Kankuro," I said with a half-smile, "is there any time of day when you are not fully preoccupied with sex?"

He rubbed at his chin with the back of his hand and considered my question. "Mmm…no." He shrugged then, as if his behavior was entirely beyond his control. "Besides, what else is there to do?"

Kankuro had obviously forgotten he had children to scare.

* * *

><p>For the most part the written test scores of the graduating class were excellent. I was proud of every student and their accomplishments, but after evaluating twenty-seven jutsu performance tests and then conducting a final conference with the academy jonin, I was more than ready to step out of the spotlight.<p>

But I could not.

Socializing with parents and the retired shinobi who never missed these ceremonies was my last and most difficult task of the day. The positive, engaged relationship these people had with their children was beyond my personal experience, and I was uncertain what they wished to hear from the Kazekage – what I was expected to say about their child beyond the official assessment I had given. It pained me to think that my lapses of silence might be interpreted as boredom or arrogance.

Kankuro always sensed the moments when I was at a loss. While he might revel in torturing me brother to brother, he stood by my side in the late afternoon heat and consistently bridged the gaps left by my awkwardness, carrying the conversation when I could not.

He had covered for me in this way as long as I could remember.

It was ironic. On the one hand my brother could not resist menacing these children whenever possible, and yet on the other he knew the best words to praise them and flatter their parents – especially the mothers. Sometimes I did not understand him at all.

What I hoped was the last family had bowed, smiling, and started to move away.

"Thank you, Kankuro," I said.

"For what?"

Despite being dressed in his heavy black tunic and hood, there wasn't a single bead of sweat on his garishly painted face. I glanced at him but said nothing; he already knew what I meant.

"These people just want to be near you, Gaara." He looked off then, toward the crowd that was beginning to disappear into the lengthening, finger-like shadows cast by the village buildings. "They want to be seen talking to the Kazekage. You're like a god and it makes them feel important. It's not easy for you, I know, but it's what is best for Suna and my duty to serve however I can."

"I am no god."

"You are to them, and that's what matters."

I could not agree with his logic without the appearance of vanity.

"In many ways you would make a better Kage than I, Kankuro," I said.

He laughed. "No thanks. I'm happy the way things are. Your responsibilities, your choices — your reputation — it's around the clock, brother. I like my evenings free."

"Surely at some point you will get your fill of the casual life and want something more," I said.

"Listen to you," he laughed again, "extolling the virtues of finding the right girl and settling down."

"That is not what I—"

At that moment something collided with the back of my leg. I glanced over my shoulder and down at the round, grinning face of a small child.

"Gaara-sama!" the toddler said, his chubby arms squeezing my knee in a hug.

"H-hello," I replied, instinctively leaning over to place my hand on top of his shiny, blue-black hair, helping to steady him on his feet. I did not recognize the boy.

"You're Matsuri's friend," he said, slurring his words the way children did when their vocabulary was ahead of their motor skills.

I heard Kankuro try to disguise a snort of laughter by pretending to cough.

"Yes, I am."

Who was this child?

"I miss Matsuri," the boy blurted, resting his head against my leg for a moment and frowning. He gazed up at me again, his dark eyes wide. "Do you miss Matsuri too, Gaara-sama?" he pressed, tugging at my pant leg. "When can she come home?"

The Kazekage would not be unnerved by the innocent questions of a child, but I, Gaara, was speechless.

There were footsteps and a loud sigh, but I could not turn for fear of knocking the boy off balance.

"Denji, come here."

"Sari," said Kankuro. "You know this kid?"

"He's my nephew."

She bent over and pulled the boy away from me, hefting him up and settling him on her hip with one arm. I turned toward them.

"Cute," Kankuro said sourly.

"We aren't allowed to hug the Kazekage, Denji." Sari gently grasped his chin and held it still until he looked her in the eye. "You understand me, don't you?" Crestfallen, he nodded and hid his face against her neck. Sari mouthed an apology.

"It's all right," I said, although my sense of calm had not yet returned.

At my reassuring words, Denji raised his head again and smiled. After a moment he pressed the tip of his impossibly clean index finger against his plump cheek and began to study my every move and expression. I was in the spotlight again.

"Denji spends a lot of time at our house," Sari explained. "Matsuri does too. She's like an aunt to him so he's pretty fond of her." She kissed his temple. "Aren't you? Yes," she said, nodding as he did.

My mouth was dry. The sun might have been setting, but it suddenly seemed warmer where I stood. Preferring a more comfortable subject, I mentally reviewed the list of student names.

"You were here for the ceremony — your younger brother graduated today."

"Yes, he did." Sari appeared to blush before adding, "You gave him perfect marks. Our family is honored, Kazekage-sama."

"The marks were deserved. He is on his way to becoming a fine shinobi," I said, merely reciting the same scripted comments I had relied upon throughout the afternoon.

She smiled and bowed slightly. "He will be thrilled to know you think so."

"You're looking good, Sari," said Kankuro.

Something in his tone suggested more than the simple flattery he had used on the graduates' mothers. It was a detail I would have to remember to ask about later.

"Thanks. It's nice of someone to notice."

I retreated into silence, and even Kankuro finally seemed at a loss for words.

"So…have you heard from her?" Sari asked after an awkward pause. "From Matsuri?"

"Yes, just last night," I said.

"We haven't, but I guess she's busy." She smoothed Denji's hair from his forehead with her free hand. "How is she doing?"

Only I was in contact with Matsuri. Why did that thought make my feelings for her burn stronger?

"She is fine. She believes the mission is going well, and I have every faith that it is," I said.

Sari nodded in a strange way, as if she wished I had said something else. Or that perhaps she wished she had asked something else. A warm wind blew across the nearly empty grounds then, stirring dust into a miniature cyclone that traveled several meters before it dissipated. The boy rubbed at his eyes.

"Well, I'd better get Denji home. It was nice to see you again."

She secured the child against her body with both arms and asked if he was ready to go. He nodded enthusiastically, but took the last moment to wave at me.

"Bye, Gaara-sama," Denji said, and threw his arms around his aunt's neck. Sari jumped to the top of the nearest building and then beyond our sight.

Kankuro and I left as well, landing on the roof of the tower a few seconds later. Only the last quarter of the sun was still visible on the red-gold horizon. It was later than I realized.

"Are you interested in her?" Kankuro had pulled his tunic hood off over his head at that moment and didn't seem to hear me. "Are you interested in her?" I repeated.

"Who?"

"Sari."

His laugh was hollow as he ran a hand through his matted hair. "I told you, I like my evenings free."

"That does not answer my—"

"Besides," he said, purposely interrupting, "why would I waste time on a girl who wants my brother?"

I stared at him, utterly confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're joking, right?" When he saw that I was not, he went on. "We aren't allowed to hug the Kazekage," he said, mimicking Sari's voice. Then he smirked in a disgusted way. "We? She was pitying herself as much as that brat of a nephew."

"What? Kankuro—"

"And what was the other thing? Oh yeah, it was _nice of someone _to notice her." He was now using the hood to beat the dust from his feet and sandals. "She was looking right at _you_ when she said that."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning she was pissed that the _someone_ who noticed wasn't you." Kankuro wrenched open the door to the stairs and glanced at me over his shoulder. "Why don't you wake up, Gaara?" he said, then disappeared inside.

It had not been my intention to set him off, but it was obvious I had asked the wrong question.

* * *

><p>Kankuro did not show up at dinner. I was neither surprised nor disappointed. We'd had more than enough of each other's company for one day, and his absence allowed me the opportunity to eat a late meal in my office without a shirt or sandals, once an unvarying custom before my death and resurrection.<p>

Correspondence requiring my attention had been left upon the desk, as well as the block of cork, loop of soft leather, and small silk bag I had asked the staff to get while I was out today.

Amongst the post I found a letter from Temari, which I read as I ate, indicating she would return from her stay with the Nara clan within the next day or two. Her note was otherwise lacking in emotional detail – a family trait to be sure – but I intended to let it drop. I was not in the mood to experiment with any more personal questions.

It took less than an hour to read and reply to each scroll, and sign the official summary of transcripts and evaluations from the graduation. With my official work now done, I could finally finish the project I had started so many hours ago.

I picked up the cork and leather and walked down the hall to the studio. I left the room dark, using only the overhead lamp to cast a halo of light onto the workbench. The kiln was off as expected. I unlocked its door and opened it, retrieving the piece of glass I had left inside early this morning. Settling in my chair, I examined the pendant under the lamp, pleased to see it had cooled slowly and not cracked.

While the soldering iron heated up, I used a sharp knife to cut a center section from the block of cork, carefully shaping the piece into a perfect match for the small mouth of the pendant. I then slipped the pendant onto the loop of leather, tied a loose knot at the end, and pressed the piece into the recess I'd left in the remaining cork to hold it still.

I took a deep, steady breath and flexed my hand. In an instant a silent, serpentine stream of sand floated into the studio, summoned from the gourd in my room. I willed a measure into the vial and trapped it inside with the small piece of cork. Picking up the iron, I touched a length of copper solder to the tip and placed a series of uniform drops across the top, filling the depressions I had left in the glass and completely covering the stopper.

The solder cooled in seconds. I took the pendant in my hand and tested its weight, holding it beneath the lamp once more. As I had hoped, the random design of colors I had melted into the clear glass – the red, amber, and yellow of our sunset – were brilliant against the pale sand within. It was finished, and the look and feel of it exceeded my expectations.

That meant there was only one task left.

I returned to my office and sat behind the desk, a blank sheet of paper and the pendant before me.

I had spent so many hours as a sleepless apparition…haunting these rooms and hallways in the dead of night…afraid of myself…determined to control the whispers in my mind. But tonight was not like the past. Tonight I was alone in this quiet tower, surrounded by darkness, but I was not afraid…and determined only to start over.

Dipping the brush in ink I began to write. Quickly. Without premeditation or censorship. It would be a letter the Kazekage could openly acknowledge, yet one that I, Gaara, had written from my own racing heart…

_Dear Matsuri,_

_Thank you for your letter. _

_I am relieved to hear you are comfortable and being treated well. If there is anything that your hosts have not provided, please don't hesitate to request what you need._

_Out of curiosity, has the Tsuchikage personally asked you any cultural or military questions? I would be very interested to know._

_Your first impressions of Iwa culture are revealing. When you return I hope you will have ideas on ways our two lands can explore common ground. The new cultural center should be nearly finished by then, and perhaps we could include a display on the Iwa. I'd like your thoughts. _

_In the meantime I continue to make the windows with Bokuyo's beautiful glass. I had the pleasure of sharing a meal at his home the other night. He and his wife are kind people._

_I met Denji for the first time today. He misses you very much._

_As for insight and guidance, I don't know what I can truly offer, but trust that you may ask anything of me. Anything._

_One last thing. You mentioned missing the soft sand of Suna. Since it is my fault you are away, I hope you will accept this token as a reminder of home until you are back where you belong._

_Yours sincerely, Gaara_

I did not reread it or even check for errors or smudges. It would only open the door to second guesses. Folding the paper into a small, thick square, I tucked it inside the silk bag along with the pendant and headed for my room.

The sand I had summoned earlier hung like mist in the hallway, lost in suspended animation without my direction. It was pulled into my wake when I walked through it, trailing behind me like the tail of a comet as I moved to the bureau.

There, sitting on the top in a position of honor, was Chiyo's mechanical bird. Her brother, Ebizo, had given it to me as a personal memento not long after her passing. More than any other relic, this bird was a symbol of my solemn responsibility to become more than I had been, and it somehow seemed fitting to use it for this purpose.

I drew the strings on the silk bag and tied them to the beak of Chiyo's bird. Turning the key until it was wound tight, I formed the seal in my mind and watched the bird rise from my hand and fly out the nearest window. I stepped out onto my private terrace to watch its progress in the moonlight for as long as I could.

It was a beautiful night. The flower-sweet breeze off the desert was refreshingly cool against my bare chest, and I felt…hopeful.

Matsuri would have sand from home. My sand. Even now I could feel my bond with it despite the increasing distance. It was a part of me, and I would not be whole again until it returned.

Art imitated life.


	4. Tempt Not a Desperate Man

**A/N**: Many thanks, as usual, to **Scarlett71177** for her endless support. All recognizable characters, locations, and concepts are the property of **Masashi Kishimoto**. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Tempt Not a Desperate Man<strong>

I was floating.

Sand was scattered across the infinite plane upon which I stood, each grain its own world of history, meaning, and complex simplicity. I was bound to every particle…could feel the timelessness of each tethering thread of energy. It existed within me…was woven through me…and I knew that it had sought my spirit even before my physical body had been formed. I was one with all cosmic dust…could feel the universe expanding, stretching…and the future was an event horizon beyond which I had no choice but to venture, each step forward as blind as the last…

A knock on my private door intruded upon my meditation. It was Temari.

"Come in," I said.

I listened as my sister stepped inside and slid the door nearly closed again.

"It's a good thing you do this stuff in private," she said, no hint of serious judgment in her voice. "If certain members of the council saw you like this they would strip you of your title and have you committed."

She was referring to the fact that I was suspended upside down rather like a butchered animal, shirtless and with my arms hanging toward the floor. Only one bare foot was anchored to a layer of sand that hovered just below the adobe ceiling of my bedroom. I held the sand in place with my chakra, so I was, in effect, not bound to the earth at all. I found that the sensation of drifting in space, grounded only by my own energy, enhanced free thought and deepened the meditative experience.

"Control of the body and mind leads to insight…and harmony with the spirit," I said, opening one eye. "And certain members of the council could do with some insight."

"Heh, couldn't we all," Temari replied.

There was sarcasm in her tone but I was not certain of its target. I opened my other eye.

"Was there something you wanted, Temari?" I slowly righted myself, the blood rushing out of my head at the same relative speed that the sand returned to the gourd. My feet touched the floor as the last grains streamed away.

She stared at me for a moment and then said, "What's been going on while I was gone?"

I closed my eyes again, allowing my head to roll against the base of my neck in a relaxed circle before I assumed the tadasana pose.

"Didn't the staff make the council record available to you?"

Although my tone was designed to reflect inner calm, I was stalling. I was already aware that Baki had briefed my sister on the meetings she missed while she was in Konoha, so the fact that she had knocked on my private door in the morning, still dressed in house clothes, meant her motivation was personal. My recent missteps with Kankuro had been a sharp reminder to tread carefully.

"I'm not talking about village business," she said. "I'm talking about with you...with Kankuro."

I tightened the muscles in my thighs and aligned my vertebrae from tailbone to skull. "What do you mean?"

"I've been home for a nearly a week, but outside of Suna business I have hardly seen or spoken to either of you – and not once at the same time," she said. "Kankuro has told me a little, but—"

"And what did he tell you?"

I slowly began to contort my body into the garudasana pose, balancing on my right foot and winding my left leg across the right, hooking that foot behind my right calf. I likewise entwined my arms, ending with the palms of my hands together just in front of my face.

"He said you were angry when you found out we had a bet about…about you and Matsuri. That you ordered him from your sight," she said.

"That is true," I replied.

I heard Temari take a few steps further into the room. "But how can you still be angry, Gaara? Still punishing him? We weren't making a joke of your feelings, I swear. We meant no disrespect. We were hopeful, that's all. And…_happy_ for you."

She was upset. There was a sort of strain in her voice now, an unexpected struggle to maintain control of her emotions. I sensed her fear of me, as well as a need not to fail. It was the way she used to behave when she sought Father's approval. I often judged Kankuro for mirroring our father's cold ways, but I was no better.

"I know that, Temari," I said gently.

"Then — then why are you still at odds?" she pressed, obviously not assuaged by my words. "Why does Kankuro feel he must avoid you?"

"What Kankuro has failed to tell you," I said, pausing to return to the tadasana before reversing the intertwined pose of the garudasana, "is that he is the one angry with me – not the other way around."

There was a considerable gap before she spoke again, as if she could not believe that Kankuro would dare to express open hostility toward me, or that I had not killed him for it. I used the time to restore the rhythm of my breathing.

"Why? What did you do?"

"I asked him a question," I said.

"A question? What question?"

I released the yoga position and opened my eyes once more. The course of this conversation had finally and fully shattered my concentration, and I would not be completing my meditation today. I sighed.

"I asked if he was interested in Sari."

Temari blinked a few times and then her brow furrowed. "So?"

I would have to explain.

Why was talk of personal matters always so difficult for me? Even the emotions of others? Somehow, within moments, I had strayed from balanced solitude into quicksand and I felt exposed. Reaching for the mesh shirt I'd left laying on my unmade bed, I pulled it on.

"Despite his claim of preferring a different girl every week, I believe Kankuro—" I took a deep breath and faced my sister. "I believe he does have feelings for her."

Temari flashed her teeth in an almost twisted grin. "So…he can dish it out but he can't take it, is that what all this is about?"

"Not exactly," I replied, moving past her and out the door. I picked up my sandals and started down the hall toward the office.

She followed close on my heels. "What does that mean, Gaara? _Not exactly_?"

The bright morning sun was lighting the room from the northeast, and the breeze drifting in from the distant sand was still cool and sweet. The top of the desk was as I had left it last night. There were no new letters. It had been a week and Chiyo's bird had not yet returned.

Ignoring my disappointment, I sat down and began to fasten the sandals to my feet. I did not look at Temari when I answered.

"Kankuro is angry because — because he believes Sari has feelings for someone else," I said.

"How is that your fault?" Temari demanded.

I leaned back into the chair and met her gaze but said nothing. She slowly sank into one of the chairs opposite the desk.

"Oh, noooo," she whispered. We were both silent for some time. She then said, "But you have no interest in Sari." It was a statement more than a question, but she still waited for confirmation.

"No."

"Because…you really _are_ in love with Matsuri?" Temari ventured carefully.

She had already heard the truth from Kankuro, I was sure, but it was as if my sister could not resist the possibility that I might actually admit such feelings aloud. My heart had been pounding since she'd said the words. I could not lie.

"Yes." I swallowed hard. "I understand Kankuro owes you money."

For a few seconds Temari's face was transformed by a lovely, genuine smile, one I chose to believe she inherited from Mother. But it faded all too quickly and her brow was furrowed again.

"Wait — Sari is interested in you or Kankuro just _thinks_ she's interested in you?"

"I don't know. There is only his interpretation — his word for it," I said, shrugging slightly.

"What did he say?"

I refused to recount the specific details. The Kazekage would not speak of a valued kunoichi from a respected family as if she were a character in a melodrama.

"He implied that I am immature, and that I should wake up because I didn't recognize her behavior as interest."

"Immature? Heh. That's a laugh coming from him." Temari scoffed. "The way he skips from lover to lover, some of the friends he chooses — his intolerance of children." She managed a remarkable imitation of Kankuro's voice, adding, "I like my evenings free."

"I do not understand him," I said.

She smirked. "What self-respecting woman would ever think seriously about a man like that?"

It might have been intended as damning judgment, but Temari's statement did not necessarily doom Kankuro's chances with Sari or any other worthy girl. I had noticed that my sister often made the same remark about Shikamaru Nara, although they frequently exchanged letters and she continued to take long journeys to spend time with him. But then, I did not understand her, either.

Temari's frown returned. "I don't mean to add heat to this," she began casually, "but Kankuro isn't completely wrong."

"Meaning?"

"I think Sari did have feelings for you at one point — during and after your capture by Akatsuki. She was one of the first to volunteer for the mission to save you — along with Matsuri," Temari said.

"I never knew that," I said. I could better understand Kankuro's impatience now.

"And it's only natural, Gaara. You are the Kazekage — everyone in this village has feelings for you." Temari smiled Mother's smile again. "But since your recovery you have favored Matsuri, and Sari must have realized long ago that you made your choice. Kankuro is being stupid if he—"

Before I was forced to comment there was a knock on the outer door. My sandals had been gone from the hall only a few minutes.

"Kazekage-sama," Baki called.

"Come in."

After a moment of fumbling the door slid open and Baki stepped into the office. His hands were occupied with a cloth-covered breakfast tray, and several scrolls and a stack of letters were tucked under his arm. He acknowledged Temari, and as he reached to set the tray before me the correspondence slipped, scattering upon the desk. Matsuri's graceful handwriting on the face of an envelope caught my eye.

"Your breakfast and the post, Kazekage-sama."

"Thank you, Baki," I said.

"The builders and several members of the council are expecting you at the construction site later this morning," said Baki.

"Yes, I know. Tell them I will be there."

"Is there anything else?" said Baki, gathering the letters and restoring them into a neat stack.

I pulled the cloth from the tray and feigned interest in the rice, miso soup with tofu, boiled egg, sliced daikon, and small plate of dates. "Only an hour of privacy to eat and read, and then I could use your help packing the windows I've finished and transporting them to the cultural center. I hope to learn how to install them today," I said.

"Of course, Kazekage-sama." Baki bowed. "Temari."

When he had left the room Temari grabbed the plate of dates. "You hate how noisy I am when I eat, I know, so I'm going." She popped one of the soft, dark fruits into her mouth and spoke around it. "And don't worry — I'll take care of things here."

For an instant I felt sorry for Kankuro.

Once Temari had gone and closed the door I searched through the stack of correspondence to find the envelope from Matsuri. When I cut through the seal and opened the letter, disappointment washed over me. There were only a few lines and I scanned them rapidly.

_Gaara, I am sending this note in case your bird doesn't return. As soon as I attached my other letter it took off on its own. I can only hope it is on its way to you. – Matsuri_

I sat in silence, only picking at the food once my sense of calm had been restored. I systematically opened the other letters, laying each to the side until I reached the last scroll. I was about to unroll it when a distant clicking sound reached my ear, a sound that gradually grew more distinct.

Less than a minute later Chiyo's bird soared through the south window and came to a soft landing upon the desk. In its beak was another envelope, as well as a small, rough pebble of stone. I did not hesitate to open her letter.

_Dear Kazekage-sama,_

_I have been hard at work and feel we have made a lot of progress in the last two weeks. Setsuji – the Tsuchikage's chosen cultural ambassador – has helped me get access to their clan records. We have spent hours poring over the documents, comparing histories and looking for ways to highlight our respective similarities and differences. It's very exciting._

_Setsuji has suggested a presentation be included in their upcoming festival. It has been decided that I will perform an ethnic dance of Suna, and he will model a replica of an ancient Iwa tribal war costume. Setsuji believes, and I agree, that introducing the concept of Suna's folklore would be more eagerly accepted if it is alongside a display of their own history. Setsuji is doing tons of work to make this happen. I don't know what I would do without his help._

_No, the Tsuchikage has not asked me any military questions. However, he sometimes asks personal questions – about my family, my training program, my life in Suna – and I find that strange. What do you think?_

_You asked about an Iwa display at the new cultural center. I think it is a great idea. By the time I get home I will have plenty of material. Probably too much. I will ask Setsuji to help me with design ideas._

_And now with village matters out of the way, I must tell you how much your gift and letter touched my heart. The pendant is so beautiful and thoughtful, and words cannot express the feeling of connection it has given me. For now, all I can say is thank you, Gaara. Thank you._

_Imagining you meeting Denji brought a smile to my face. He is a wonderful little boy but I worry about him. As it was with so many others in the alliance, his father was killed in the war. Sari's family is there for him, and I adore him, but like all boys he needs a father figure. Please forgive me. I know you grieved for all those who died under your command. I don't mention this lightly, but because I believe you, of all men, can understand Denji's pain._

_I wish I could see how much the cultural center has changed since I left. Is there any chance you could send a drawing?_

_That has to be all for this letter. Setsuji is waiting to review the festival plans._

_Thank you again._

_Yours sincerely, Matsuri_

_P.S. I almost forgot. I have included a small rock from the cliffs of Iwagakure. It is not soft or beautiful, neither does it shine in the sun. But it is sturdy. I hope it reminds you of the faith you placed in me to represent you here._

I do not know how long I stood at the office windows and stared at the shimmering horizon. How long I had stared at it without seeing. I had been looking forward to Matsuri's reply, waiting to know what she thought of the pendant. But like a man too starved to show restraint I had consumed it in near desperation, and all that was left was a strange feeling in my gut I did not understand.

Perhaps it was simply that I missed her.

* * *

><p>Baki had brought Bokuyo with him when he returned, and together the three of us had carefully packed the stained glass windows that I had assembled so far. It was easy for me to transport the windows with my sand, so I had agreed to meet them, a few other council members, and the builders at the site.<p>

We had spent the next several hours reviewing the plans and touring the construction, the builders explaining all the amenities that would be included when the job was done. As I would have predicted, the most excitement was over the waterfall planned for the main entrance. Arguments about it had flared in many council meetings but I had insisted, and while it was only a dry wall of stone now, even the most stubborn could see its potential.

I had been afraid Bokuyo would be bored with the long tour. Glass was his interest and specialty, and unfortunately it was the last thing the builders covered in their presentation. But he had remained attentive and I was grateful he stayed; his expertise was invaluable when it came time to install the stained windows.

One of the builders had prepared the necessary tools and mixed the muddy sealant, and then installed the first as a demonstration. Once the finished product had met with council approval, everyone but Bokuyo went on their way. It was into the dinner hour and had already been a long afternoon. I knew from the council members' reactions that they did not understand my desire to remain and learn how to install the windows with my own hands, but I had not expected they would.

Bokuyo assisted with the second window, providing instruction, showing me how to hold the tools correctly, and reinforcing the most important aspects of the process. Once it was complete and I felt I could proceed on my own I sent him home to his kind wife. He offered to stay, but in truth I wished to be alone.

The building was deserted but not silent. It was full of sounds…creaks and pops as the evening began to cool, and the soft whistling that a breeze makes when it sifts through an empty space. My clanking and scraping of tools echoed in the stillness.

And the strange feeling in my gut was still there.

I worked for quite some time, putting in two additional windows and starting on a third before I began to relax, certain I would not make a mistake. This would be the last window tonight, however; there were no more to install until I continued my stained glass work in the studio.

The confidence I had gained in my skill had finally given my mind the freedom to wander, and it wasn't long before my thoughts returned to Matsuri. I could still see the print of her letter, each kanji etched with perfect clarity. It had been a warm and personal note, much like the conversations we have shared in private. She had written _my_ name.

But only once.

There was another she had written more.

Setsuji.

_Setsuji…Setsuji…Setsuji…_ Matsuri had mentioned his name six times.

I did not realize I had counted.

Who was he, this privileged son of the Land of Earth? Setsuji. What was his age? Did he have the battle-tested heart of a shinobi, or the soft and clammy hands of a lord's attendant? I did not know, but neither answer would satisfy.

_It has been decided that I will perform an ethnic dance of Suna…_

The vivid colors of the costumes and bright torches burned before my mind's eye. The primal music drummed inside my skull more loudly now than it had even on the night of the festival. I could see Matsuri in that dress, the fiery gold thread and beads stretched over her soft, white skin…the curves beneath almost close enough to touch. Her face flushed, eyes dark with passion…beautiful and wild, a siren of the desert…

I wanted to believe she danced only for me.

Carnal fire seethed and boiled, churning molten lava throughout my trembling body. Sand swirled around me like a storm; I could hear it chipping away at the wall, shattering the stained glass.

But at that moment I did not care. I did not care if it was Shukaku's lustful ghost that controlled me or if it was I, Gaara, who was determined to possess her. Either way Matsuri was mine. Mine.

Her flesh was _my flesh_. Her heart was _my heart_. Her life was _my life_. If this Setsuji dared to interfere — dared to taste what was not his to taste — I would see him dead, his lifeless eyes left open to acknowledge the man who had filled his lungs with sand…

The sound of my labored breathing rang in the empty space as I made a gradual return to reason. I had lost control of myself for only a few moments but the damage was done. The tools I had been using lay forgotten at my feet, dropped or perhaps thrown down in my jealous rage. The wall had been nearly worn through to the outside, and the beautiful window I had so painstakingly pieced together was now a million shards and splinters on the road below.

It would not be a simple matter to explain how the Kazekage, in a fit of temper, had destroyed a section of his own pet project.

I was a fool.

Naturally other men would be interested in Matsuri. She was a beautiful, intelligent, capable young woman. I should have expected competition. I should have expected the need to prove my worthiness by comparison. After all, I did not want her to love me as the Kazekage but as myself, and knew only too well that I had given her very little to hold onto.

_What self-respecting woman would ever think seriously about a man like that?_

Although I was unaffected by Temari's sentiment this morning, the message in her words held a painful sting now. Perhaps that had been her intention all along.

This night had realized my constant fear: that I was still far from becoming the normal man I wished to be.

Kankuro was right. I needed to wake up.


	5. No Other Medicine but Only Hope

Many thanks to **Scarlett71177** for her endless support of this story and its author. All recognizable characters, locations, and concepts are the property of **Masashi Kishimoto**. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: No Other Medicine but Only Hope<strong>

We stood in the empty hallway of the cultural center, near the scar my sand had carved into the wall. By the bright light of day the damage looked worse than it had last night, and despite the hours in between I had been unable to formulate a reasonable account of what happened beyond calling it an accident.

"It's nothing that cannot be fixed, Kazekage-sama." The site foreman, Hiroki, was being painfully polite. "All our workmen are busy with other jobs," he said, the pounding and clanging of construction activity on the floors above and below us underscoring his point, "but we have funds in the budget to hire an extra man for a few hours to complete the repairs. I will see to it immediately."

Hiroki had not yet made eye contact and turned to leave.

"I will do it," I said.

The foreman stopped mid-step and pivoted back, a confused expression freezing his features. "Kazekage-sama?"

"I will repair the wall myself." Hiroki first glanced at Kankuro, as if my brother might act as the voice of reason and somehow persuade me otherwise, but he said nothing. I could see the older man's mind working, scrambling to form a reply that would not be interpreted as condescending or a challenge to my authority, but in my embarrassed agitation I gave him no opportunity. "I have already depleted the budget by adding a program to the center's opening night festival. There are no reserves. I will do the work."

Hiroki averted his eyes once more. "I will have the tools and material brought to you, Kazekage-sama."

"One more request," I said, interrupting his awkward bow. "I would like a copy of the latest artwork showing the center's construction progress – the same drawings we sent the daimyo."

"As you wish, Kazekage-sama."

I nodded and was only able to breathe easily when he had walked away. Once Hiroki's footsteps could no longer be heard on the sandy grit of the corridor I turned toward Kankuro and braced myself for his reaction.

He was staring at the damaged wall with Father's smile on his unpainted face, and the effect it created made me question my decision to ask for his company this morning. The matter of Sari continued to hang unsettled between us, and Kankuro was still bitter. I had thought that if he witnessed what I had done – the senseless destruction caused by my own jealousy – he might believe I would never intentionally bring such feelings upon him. However, faced with the humiliation I was reluctant to expose the weakness to him.

"These hammerheads might buy your story that this was an accident," said Kankuro, "but I know better."

"And what is it that you know, Kankuro?"

He folded his arms and shook his head. "That you _really_ need to get laid," he said.

"Because that has done so much to improve your own self-control and disposition?" I leveled my gaze at him.

"Hey, this isn't about me. I'm not the one losing it and defacing public property." He laughed but it was an uneasy sound. My silence forced him to begin again, this time somewhat more contrite. "I mean, what the hell happened here, Gaara? You haven't done something like this in years."

"I know."

When I did not immediately elaborate he cast a wary eye upon me. "Did you get…confused again? Has the bloodlust—"

"No."

By the way he set his jaw I could tell he did not believe me. Nor should he. While it was not exactly the same bloodlust that darkened his past experiences with me, discovering that in a jealous rage I had vowed to fill a rival's lungs with sand would not set Kankuro's mind at ease.

"Okay, then I don't get why you're insisting on doing the repairs yourself with some story about the budget. If this was really an accident and they can easily fix it? That's what these guys are for."

He had chosen not to push me for an explanation, and somehow that made it easier to tell him the truth.

"It's not a story, Kankuro. As I told Hiroki, I have added a new program to the budget and there is no money to pay for this. I caused the damage, I will do the work."

"Oooh! Look out, hammerheads!" Kankuro began to laugh again. "It's Masonry Monk to the rescue!"

As usual my brother could find humor where I could not. "What monk would allow himself to become so jealous of a name that he could do this?"

"A name? What name? What are you talking about?"

"Matsuri has met someone," I said, my voice low so it would not echo in the hallway. I was no longer able to look him in the eye, and instead fixed my gaze upon the empty frame that had held my stained glass window last night. "A man she is working with in Iwagakure."

"What?" Kankuro's joking manner faded quickly, snuffed out like a flame deprived of oxygen. He tilted his head toward the deep gouge in the adobe. "That's what happened here? You were _that_ jealous?"

I nodded.

"Come on, Gaara, you can't think that she—"

"I think only that Matsuri is her own person, free to have any relationship she chooses." I wanted to believe in the rational strength of my own words, but in reality it had brought pain to my chest to speak them. "Beyond her duty and allegiance as a kunoichi of this village, I have no hold on her."

"Are you serious?" Out of the corner of my eye I could see he was staring at me, his countenance one of genuine disbelief. "No hold on her? Matsuri worships every grain of sand you walk on."

"Because the Kazekage is like a god to his people," I said. "You reminded me of that fact only recently."

"Oh, for the love of all things holy…are you really so—?" Kankuro sighed impatiently. "You're wrong, Gaara. You have always been more to her than that. Matsuri—" He hesitated as if he were searching the past for the right description. "She's different. She loved you before you became Kazekage. Before you were, you know, free. Before you were…human." His attitude softened then, almost apologetic. "She saw something in you back when the rest of us couldn't."

I closed my eyes for a few moments and breathed deeply in an attempt to calm the hopeful riot in my heart. "How do you know this, Kankuro?"

"Because I saw it in her eyes every day at the academy." Kankuro stepped forward and touched a shard of red glass that was hanging precariously from a strip of twisted lead remaining in the window. It came loose and tumbled off the shallow sill, hitting the floor. "I saw how she looked at you, Gaara. How badly she wanted to ease your pain." He laughed uneasily once more. "And I hated you for it."

I had not expected such words and emotion, nor did I comprehend them. How much of our brotherhood had Kankuro spent steeped in envious competition? My mouth was open to question him but I was halted by the rattling approach of Hiroki and his cart. Kankuro's revelation would have to go unchallenged for the moment.

Hiroki had apparently found courage and acceptance on his journey to arrange for the materials, as he no longer avoided my gaze. He carefully went over each phase of the repair process with me, indicating what tools to use for each step and explaining other relevant techniques he thought might be useful. When he was finished the foreman gave me a smile of encouragement.

"You will not find it a difficult job, Kazekage-sama."

"Nevertheless, I would appreciate your expert review of my work when I am done – to make certain it meets with your approval," I said.

Hiroki beamed. "As you wish, Kazekage-sama."

When Hiroki had bowed and left for the second time, Kankuro began to rummage through the tools while I removed my cloak and rolled up the sleeves of the mesh shirt I wore. When I stepped up to the cart he was absently nicking at a block of soft clay with the point of a trowel. The slump of his shoulders and haunted expression on his face were an unsettling reminder of childhood.

I began to organize what I needed and set up for the repairs, and spoke without looking directly at him. "Why, Kankuro? Why did you hate me for Matsuri's kindness?"

Without reservation he said, "Because _everything_ was _always_ about _you_. Everything."

Kankuro was not overtly angry, but I could sense volcanic feelings building within him and kept silent, hoping he might finally express some of the resentment he had harbored all these years. He would say it was monkish of me, but I knew the value of striving for inner peace and wanted that gift of spiritual freedom for my brother – even if it came at my expense.

"We didn't get much time with her – Temari and me. But for a little while she was _our_ mother…gentle, kind, loving…happy. She held us, sang to us, played games. I was her boy," Kankuro said, his voice reflecting the distance of his memories.

Memories and a gift of time I could not share. Mother had never held me or sung to me. We never had the chance to play games. But Mother had left a gift of her love and will within my sand, and for the first time I was grateful that Kankuro had not been with me on the battlefield that day…that he had not seen Mother's protective image surrounding me.

"She made us feel safe and warm. Even Father was kinder in those days. For a time we were like a real family. But then—"

"But then I was conceived," I said, staying focused on my task, "and ruined everything."

He confirmed my statement by stabbing the clay with the trowel, burying it up to its handle. I had always assumed he felt that way, deep inside, and I did not blame him. It had been beyond my control, of course, but there was no denying that my existence had ruined everything. Because of my compatibility with Shukaku and Father's ambitions, the family that could have been never was.

Sighing heavily, Kankuro crossed the hallway and put his back to the wall. He slid down on his haunches and then, as if he no longer had strength, he sat on the floor.

"Mother was so sad after that," he said, his tone uneven, "and every day she got further away from us. I was small but I can still remember how she would stand at the windows of the private room that's now yours, just staring out at nothing. Her hand was always on her belly. You were all she and Father ever talked about. Fought about. The baby, the baby, _the baby_. I started to hate you before you were even born."

Picking up the block he had nearly cut in two, I moved it to the kneading board, sprinkled it with water, and began to soften the clay with my hands.

After a while Kankuro said, "I'm sorry, Gaara."

I shook my head slowly. "I know you do not hate me now, Kankuro, and when you did it was justified." I added another brick and more water. "I also know that regardless of your own pain, and the demon I became, you never abandoned me. You have always stood at my side, even when I did not deserve it."

Kankuro laughed in a hollow way. "You were such a scrawny, mewling runt. Mother was dead, Father was always busy. All Temari and I had left was a sense of duty, a lethal brat of a little brother who made us outcasts, and Uncle Yashamaru. But he was pretty much all about you too, right up to the second he died."

My flesh threatened to crawl off my bones as I suddenly understood why Kankuro had such a caustic aversion to children. It was because of me.

"The only thing that kept life from totally sucking was the academy," he went on. "I got interested in puppets. Temari and I were noticed there…we had a chance to be ourselves and shine a little. Maybe it was only because we were the Kazekage's children, but it was something of our own. Something positive. Something that wasn't completely overshadowed by you and your…issues."

"I see." After adding another large brick, I judged the mound of clay to be about right. When it was soft enough I took it by handfuls and began to pack it into the hole in the wall. "So knowing that a girl at the academy, that Matsuri—"

"I didn't want her for myself if that's what you're thinking," said Kankuro. "It wasn't that it was _her_. She could have been anyone. I hated that your pain was the only thing she saw. _Your_ pain. Not mine, not Temari's. We were suffering too, you know."

I stopped for a moment and faced him, muddy water dripping from my elbows. "Yes, I knew," I said, and it was true. I did know they were suffering. But at that time, lost in Shukaku's possession, I did not have the capacity to care.

"We had no friends, a cold and distracted father, and everyone whispered behind our backs." Kankuro had held up a finger for each grievance, slowly closing them into a fist. He banged his head against the wall. "Look, I got that you were a victim, Gaara. Sad, lonely, tortured. I got it. But in our own way Temari and I were too, and at the end of the school day, when all the other kids went home to their parents and normal childhoods, we were stuck with you – a psychopath who would just as soon have killed us as look at us. How was that fair?"

"It wasn't," I said, unable to say anything more useful. I had purposely pulled on this thread and now the truth, as unpleasant as it might be for both of us, was unraveling.

"It just…well," he sighed heavily again, "it just would have been nice if a girl had ever looked at me that way…if one ever—"

He did not finish his thought but there was no need. Uncomfortable silence fell between us, and I was certain Kankuro and I were thinking about the same thing. Sari. Another girl who didn't seem to notice he had feelings.

"Kankuro, I—"

"Forget it," he said, heaving himself up from the floor. Unable to look at me, he made an exaggerated effort to brush the dust from his clothes. "I'm getting hungry. If it's all the same to you I think I'll head back."

I did not object. Once my brother had left I returned to my task, thankful that the damage I had done to the wall was easier to repair than the damage I had done to my family.

* * *

><p>Once Hiroki had inspected the results of my labor and given his approval, there was nothing more that could be done beyond allowing the patch to dry overnight. He had said that tomorrow, if the clay did not shrink, I could plaster over the patch, let that dry, and then sand it smooth.<p>

It was an instructive reminder that sand could help restore something that sand had destroyed.

Hiroki had also brought the drawings I requested, rolled up and tucked into a large, hollowed section of bamboo fitted with removable red caps at either end. I had planned to send it, along with the letter I owed, to Matsuri as soon as I returned home. Hiroki asked if I wished to see the progress his team had made on the building's entrance but I had declined, and left the construction site in the late afternoon.

A short time later I had arrived at Bokuyo's door. There was something about the glass smith, or perhaps the way he lived his life, that calmed me and I found myself seeking his company more and more. He had seemed pleased by my unscheduled visit, and eager to show me the results of his latest experimentation.

Working with selenium he had procured from a copper mine at the western edge of the Land of Earth, Bokuyo had produced a few small sheets of glass that were a pale, translucent pink. He'd had the idea that I should incorporate the new glass in the windows that would face to the north and south, as our Suna sunsets tended to streak those skies with a similar color in the evenings. I told him once more how much I valued his instincts, a perfect blend of nature and artistry that I could only aspire to master.

It was difficult to say how long Bokuyo and I might have spoken of glass if our tradesmen's conversation had not been interrupted by his wife's call to dinner. Mariko had already set the table for three, and for the second time I could not dishonor them. I had thought again of Kankuro's words – that it made others feel privileged to be near the Kazekage – and wondered if it was the only reason I'd been invited to stay.

During the meal I had surprised even myself by asking my hosts how they met and chose one another. The silent and meaningful look they exchanged had confused me, but then I understood little about marriage – how it worked, when it was right, how two souls could seamlessly become one. But the harmony of their relationship intrigued me.

Bokuyo and Mariko were gracious enough to share their intimate memories. It was a simple story. Their fathers had been friends since childhood, living and raising their families in the same quarter of the village. Neither could remember a time when they did not know the other, and Bokuyo claimed he knew at age ten that Mariko would be his wife. She said she knew at age eight. Once Bokuyo had completed his apprenticeship and become a master glass smith, they were married. Their only child, a son they named Naoki, had died of a fever just a week before his third birthday. The bittersweet truth of two quiet lives revealed in just a few words.

The conversation had moved on to other things – the weather, the high price of fish in our desert market, the tools I still needed for my workbench – and by the time I had left their home I no longer doubted. They had not asked the Kazekage to stay. It was I, Gaara, who had been welcome at their table, who had been entrusted with their privacy. It was I who felt privileged to be near them.

I had stayed so long that the sun had dropped below the horizon hours ago, and the complete darkness made the stars overhead seem watchful and close, near enough that I might have reached up to pluck one from the sky. Indeed, a long and emotional day had passed. The gnawing fear and jealousy I still felt, Kankuro's pain, the hope inspired by a couple's enduring love – they were all jumbled together in my mind and the result left my spirit restless.

I chose to walk home through the quiet streets of the village, seeking reassurance that in one matter, at least, I had done well. That the people of Suna – people like Bokuyo and Mariko – were safe from harm and free to live in peace. But I had not done it alone. Although the weight of their welfare would rest upon my shoulders for many years to come, I could never forget that the future had been paid for with the brave and loyal blood of many.

_I know you grieved for all those who died under your command._

With Matsuri's written thoughts as my companion, I found my way to her small corner apartment. Without her warmth and grace the rooms beyond the dark windows seemed so cold and lifeless. I missed her terribly. Had I become intoxicated by the romance of Bokuyo and Mariko's story? I did not know, but my deepest feelings for Matsuri swiftly overwhelmed me.

I stepped closer, into the building's shadow, knowing that I was undoubtedly under surveillance by the village guards. My fingers traced the cracks and pits in the surface of the battered door. How many times had I walked her home?

I vividly remembered the last time we stood there together. The way she had lingered near me and spoken in a soft voice, drawing out our conversation. The way she had looked in my eyes and her hand had trailed lightly down my sleeve. _Just one kiss_, the fiery madness had whispered. But that was a lie. It had already formed a plan to get more – to get upstairs to her room and take all that it wanted. It had nearly persuaded me when she broke away and disappeared inside, leaving a trace of her perfume in the air.

That was the night I decided to send her away.

Even now, with Matsuri many miles from Suna, my blood had ignited just remembering how I'd felt. I was not ready, and had no way of knowing if I ever would be. If I would ever deserve her. But I could not give up hope. Had I not resolved only last night that I would wake up? That I would become more than an accumulation of pain and fault and regret, and prove my worthiness?

_I don't mention this lightly, but because I believe you, of all men, can understand Denji's pain._

Matsuri was right. I did understand Denji's pain. It was much like my own. And like Kankuro's. All boys needed a stable role model – someone to be there, to teach them how to become a strong and decent man. I realized then that her underlying message had been drifting in my subconscious since yesterday, colliding with events and conversations and slowly taking shape.

Not enough had been done to ease the suffering of the dependent orphans of this village. The community owed them a future, and as its leader I was responsible. I also had not done enough for my family. Temari did not reveal her feelings to me, but I had known for some time that Kankuro was foundering in bitterness and empty relationships, and I'd done nothing. Up to this point I had been complacent, but that was about to change.

I had an idea. An idea that Kankuro was sure to hate. I tucked the bamboo carrier of drawings under my arm and headed for home, determination growing with every step.

* * *

><p>I knocked lightly on the door of Kankuro's workshop. He had not been in his private room, as I had checked there first, but the staff assured me he had returned to the tower earlier in the evening and was home for the night. He had to be here.<p>

"Come in," he called. When I stepped inside I found him hunched over the workbench, his attention focused on attaching strings to the shell of a hand. All of his battle puppets – including Crow, Black Ant, and Scorpion – were hanging from hooks on the wall, so I assumed he was working on something new. "Where have you been all night?" he said, not looking up. "We expected you at dinner."

"I was out."

"Yeah, I figured that much by myself. Out _where_?"

"At the cultural center. Then I went to see Bokuyo," I said.

"I think Baki made sure a cold plate was sent to your office – just in case."

"Kankuro, I have a mission for you."

He set the spool of tensile string and puppet hand aside then, and turned in his chair. "A mission? What mission?"

I had his full attention now and could guess the conclusions he was jumping to – that I had changed my mind about heading off the band of hellions from Yagukure, and that I was sending him out with a squad. The less time I gave him to speculate, the better.

"I am setting up a mentoring program for the village orphans and want you to lead it," I said.

Kankuro stared at me from across the room. After what might have been a full minute he said, "That's not a _mission_, Gaara. Babysitting a bunch of brats? That's a punishment." He left his chair and came to stand before me. I was forced to lift my chin to meet his glare. "This is because of what I said earlier, isn't it? Some kind of payback for—"

I raised my hand and silenced him. "No, it is neither punishment nor payback. This program is important for the fatherless children of Suna. It is important to me."

"Then _you_ lead it," he said angrily.

"I cannot."

"What do you mean _you cannot_?" said Kankuro, dangerously close to mocking me. "If you have time for all that art shit and chanting, then you have time to—"

"That is enough, Kankuro. You will do this." I waited for him to argue again but he did not. Instead he silently fumed, his hands clenched into tight fists. "Baki will provide you with the names of the children. I would like to see them involved in the opening ceremonies for the cultural center."

"Is that all?" Kankuro said, his tone unnaturally flat.

"Choose your own staff and report on your progress one week from today."

I left him standing there, grinding his teeth.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I sincerely apologize for how long it took me to update this story. If you're still following this fic I'd love to hear from you. Thank you for reading.


	6. I Burn, I Pine, I Perish

Many thanks to **Scarlett71177** for her endless support of this story and its author. All recognizable characters, locations, and concepts are the property of **Masashi Kishimoto**. No copyright infringement is intended.

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: I Burn, I Pine, I Perish<strong>

I pushed the hot light away and sat up straight, rubbing at the back of my neck. The yoga I practiced was excellent for posture and energy, but its benefits could be easily erased by several hours at the workbench. It was ironic that my leisure activities were a greater strain on my body than the heavy sand gourd I had carried for years.

The time had been well-spent, as I had soldered together two stained glass windows and cut glass for a third, but the price was knotted shoulders and a dull ache behind my eyes. Nevertheless, it was better than the alternative; even without the threat of Shukaku devouring my soul, sleep remained an unfriendly realm for me.

Nearly a week ago, on a rare night when I chose to retire early, I had been awakened by a dream. The experience left a visceral impression, a haunting feeling of separation I could not shake off. Since then the studio seemed the safest place to spend the dark and cool hours when the rest of the tower was silent. At the workbench my hands could still be productive while my mind struggled to understand the dream's message.

Matsuri had been at my side. I had felt the warmth of her bare skin against mine, breathed the trace of perfume at her neck. Our feet were tangled together in the silk bed linen. She was happy. I'd felt the joy in her heart as surely as if it were my own, and I had not been afraid to be with her. For what seemed like forever we'd spoken quietly, shared honestly, and kissed deeply. But then, in the sort of sudden and impossible contradiction that only happens in dreams, she had doubted me and melted from my arms. I had begged her to come back – had searched blindly for her in the darkness – but she had gone.

I had awakened feeling more cold and alone than ever in my life, and the depth of it frightened me to the core. My fear had been so strong, in fact, that sand from the gourd had made its own way from the far corner of my room to my bedside while I'd slept. Having found a gap in the sheer curtains, it had streamed in and formed a protective blanket that hovered around me. Even during the darkest days of my old life, nothing like that had ever happened before.

What it meant, if anything, I did not know.

I had written to Matsuri earlier that same day, including a letter with the copy of the cultural center drawings she had asked to see. I had wanted to tell her about the mentoring program – to tell her I understood her concern for Denji and the others like him, and that I valued her thoughts. I had wanted to tell her about my evening with Bokuyo and Mariko, and share their story. I had wanted to tell her about the dream. But I couldn't.

Instead I'd kept the note brief and formal, fearful that if I added anything personal it would betray the ugliness that had consumed me since her last letter. Matsuri deserved better than an immature man's jealousy, and at this point I no longer knew how to show appropriate interest in her work. The Kazekage should have asked for a report on the mission, but I, Gaara, was not prepared to hear another word about Setsuji.

"Is that why she doubted me?" I said aloud, staring at the pieces of soft pink glass I had arranged on the bench as if they could interpret my dream and answer me.

I sighed. Sliding my hands into my hair, I closed my eyes and tried to separate fact from fear.

Kankuro had spoken of Matsuri's desire to ease my pain. He said she had always looked upon me with love. He said she had seen something in me – had seen beyond how twisted and damaged I was inside. I needed to believe that. I needed to believe she loved me now…that she would heal me, and that we would someday lie together just as we had in my dream.

I needed to believe.

Bokuyo and Mariko returned to my thoughts then, and for a moment I felt envy at how easily they had found each other…how certain they had been of their love from a young age. But I knew it was a misplaced emotion. They were not shinobi, as Matsuri and I were, and Bokuyo had been bred to be a glass smith, a husband, a father – not a living weapon. Our paths could not be compared. And while their blessings might seem easily won to my eye, sacrifice still found them and claimed the life of their only child. I should not envy Bokuyo, but learn from his example of peaceful strength.

I rose from my chair and slowly stretched as if I might touch the ceiling. Dizzy from fatigue and the rush of blood to my head, I leaned against the workbench for a few seconds to steady myself before I shuffled my bare feet toward the terrace. The pitch black of the western horizon was already fading overhead, a sign that the sun was beginning its climb somewhere behind me.

The village still slept quietly, hidden within the navy blue shadows of night. To conserve energy I folded my arms and leaned against the archway, and drew a deep breath of sweet desert air.

Kankuro's first report on the mentoring program was due today.

Kankuro. We had not spoken since I forced the assignment on him. I had not even seen him. As a matter of official routine Baki had informed me that Kankuro asked for the orphans' names, and then a few days later had submitted a list of supplies he needed, but I had not personally checked on his progress. If I knew my brother, he would accept the challenge and meet it well if I did not overshadow his success. By his own admission he had thrived at the academy under such conditions, and I was only using a proven method to motivate him.

In truth I had missed Kankuro this week. I had missed his counsel. Perhaps I would not have had the courage to tell him of my dream, or about the hovering sand, but it added to my lingering sense of loneliness to know that he was too angry to listen if I had.

Things had been strained between us since the afternoon we met Sari after the academy graduation, and the conversation about our early days had only reopened old wounds. Those events, together, had made me realize that my brother's future was a hostage of the past. I, Gaara, had scarred his childhood, but the Kazekage had the power to shape the life Kankuro had yet to live. It was for that reason I had decided to push him. I was the only one who could.

I sighed heavily once more. _Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment._ Kankuro would surely say that only monks recite the Buddha's teachings, but the lesson was one we would both do well to learn.

Bright rays of light were burning across the sky and beginning to warm the edges of the streets below. Another long night was over.

* * *

><p>Feeling somewhat renewed after an hour of meditation and a leisurely bath, I had not been in my office long when Temari appeared. I looked up from my breakfast plate to see her standing on my side of the threshold, hands on her hips and her skin flushed from the mid-morning heat.<p>

"There's something you should see," she said, not wasting time on a greeting.

She offered nothing more and the expression on her face gave little away. I would have to ask.

"What is it?"

"Kankuro."

"What about him?"

"He's out on the west training field – following your orders."

She had said it with a measure of surprise, as if there had been a chance Kankuro would defy my authority.

"I am certain he would not appreciate my supervision," I said. I returned to business, ignoring the food in favor of a council report.

"Oh, he's already past the pouting stage. Well, almost," she said.

I found that news difficult to believe but withheld comment. As the silence stretched between us Temari did not move, and I could sense her growing impatience. She would stand there until I did what she wanted.

I sighed. "All right."

Normally I would have worn my crimson coat in public, but on this morning I left the office without it. If my visit to the field were noticed, it would be better if it appeared unplanned and informal. Temari and I jumped from the tower roof in the bright sun, skipping across the tops of a half-dozen buildings before we landed on a low ridge on the near side of the western cliffs.

Kankuro was indeed in the dusty practice field below, standing at the end of two rows of small tables that had been set up with a larger table at the end. He was dressed in casual clothes, rather than his black tunic, and his face was unpainted. At my count there were fourteen children with him, including little Denji, seven sitting on each side.

"They're making kites," said Temari.

I nodded. Laughter and excited chatter drifted upward on the breeze.

"He said they would all draw their hero," she said.

From our vantage point on the ridge I could see the tabletops were splashed with color, and a variety of figures had been painted upon large squares of white paper. Some roughly resembled soldiers dressed in battle gear, others were only faces. All, I assumed, were images of loved ones.

I could just make out Kankuro's voice. It seemed he was trying to keep the children focused by telling a story while they worked. As he began to walk slowly between the rows, I noticed the painted square of paper that lay drying on the table behind him. It was his own contribution…what Temari had thought I should see. It was a drawing of me.

Tears stung my eyes.

Temari kept her gaze fixed on the scene below while I sought to restore my sense of calm. It was some time before she spoke again.

"His idea is to teach the kids how to build bamboo frames, and then assemble them with the decorated paper and string. One thing's for sure – there's no one in the village who could string kites better than Kankuro."

"It is a very good idea," I said.

"He's got several, actually."

I was glad to know Kankuro had shared his plans with Temari. I was not surprised. For many years they'd had no one to confide in but each other, no one else to trust. They shared a special bond I would never have with either of them.

"He wants me on hand when it comes time to fly them," she went on. "If there's no wind that day I'll use my fan. It will be tricky, though. Too much and we'll tear them to pieces – the kites, I mean, not the kids."

"How is Kankuro handling it?" Her allusion to the children's wellbeing forced me to ask, and I narrowed my eyes in the hopes of reading my brother's distant face.

"Well, none of this would be his first choice, but then you knew that when you gave the order." She shrugged slightly. "Heh. Part of him probably wants to cook them for lunch. But you knew that when you gave the order, too."

I glanced at her and nodded.

Temari smiled in a curious way. "He's making the best of it. Making it work. Besides, if all the cards are played right, he might find this big brother thing has its rewards."

"All the cards? I don't understand what you mean."

"I hear Sari has been showing up to take her nephew home." Temari was watching me now, looking for some kind of reaction. When I did not comment she became more direct. "Was that your plan with this? Force Kankuro to do something Sari would respect and maybe they'd get together?"

I folded my arms and returned my attention to the practice field. "The Kazekage does not arrange matches," I said.

That answer was not a lie, but it was not the entire truth, either. I had considered the possibility that Sari might notice Kankuro in his new role, and hoped she would come to see him for the good man he was. It was my gamble, perhaps, but Kankuro's to win or lose. Beyond that I could not get involved – not officially or personally. The mentoring program was my concern. It was my duty.

"Those children deserve the attention of this village," I said. "I could not lead the program myself and risk the inevitable council assertion that I was favoring war orphans over the rest of my people. All of Suna must be under my protection equally. But to demonstrate my commitment to the program I appointed my brother, who needed a purpose. That is all."

"Of course." Temari turned away then. Lifting a gloved hand to shade her eyes from the glaring sun, she seemed to be staring at the edge of the blue sky. After several moments she said, "You don't look well, Gaara. You're not sleeping, are you?"

My instinct was to deny it but that made no sense. I took a deep breath and released it slowly before I answered. "Not well, no."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing." I appreciated her concern, but I could not bring myself to reveal my confusion…my jealousy, my loneliness to her. "But thank you."

"There's something I don't understand," she said, turning to face me once more. "If you love her, why is she not here with you? Surely Matsuri has learned enough Iwagakure trivia by now. Why do you punish yourselves like this? Why do you endure this unnecessary separation?"

My sister's intuition, when she chose to share it, never failed to cut to the heart. I suddenly felt wounded and exposed.

"Are those questions from a caring sister, or from an expert at enduring separation?"

Her dark blue eyes sparkled with defensiveness. I could sense a surge of powerful feelings within her and knew she was balancing her fear of me against her need to speak.

"Both," she said, her tone still cool and even. "But that's not my point."

"What is your point?"

"You sent Matsuri away without telling her how you feel, didn't you?"

I gave no answer.

"You did. I know you did." Although we were alone on the ridge and too far from anyone else to be overheard, Temari took a step toward me and lowered her voice. "So because of your messed up past – your position – pride – performance anxiety – _whatever_ your problem is – she's the one in exile."

Stunned by the precision of her attack, I stared at her flushed face and spoke the only words I could manage. "Matsuri is not in exile."

"Isn't she? Name one other shinobi you've sent on a long mission since the war ended." Temari raised her eyebrows as if I might reply, but there were no others and she knew it. "You just said that _all of Suna_ must be under your protection equally, right?"

"Yes."

"But Matsuri…you _officially_ singled her out and sent her off – for who knows how long – with no realistic motive. What do you expect her to think? What is the council supposed to think?"

The combination of heat, fatigue, and pain in my chest were almost more than I could bear. I was reeling. I had never considered how the cultural exchange mission I had sponsored might appear from the outside – like an elaborate excuse, or worse, some form of punishment. In my private need to protect Matsuri – protect her from my confusion, from the fiery madness I could not control – I had set her apart in a very public way without realizing it.

I was no hero.

"You are right, Temari." I was not accustomed to being challenged in this way, but I could not deny it. "I have no defense. Only that I did what I thought was best for her."

"_Now_ you see it." She shook her head. "And by the way, _best for her_ would have been an honest expression of your feelings and damn the consequences."

I forced myself to look my sister in the eye. "It is not that simple for me. I cannot—"

Temari scoffed and turned away. "You men are all the same. You want strong, intelligent women who will accept you for what you really are, while you wallow in your reasons for keeping us at arm's length."

Perhaps in that one way I was a normal man, but I knew her remark was not actually addressed to me so much as to someone else.

"Tell me, Temari. Does Shikamaru know how you feel?"

She sighed. "That's the misery of it." She glanced over her shoulder then, her smile empty. "There's nothing he doesn't know."

To my relief it seemed Temari had nothing more to say. Already feeling as if I had taken a severe beating, I longed to be alone. We left Kankuro to his work on the practice field and returned to the tower in silence.

Once my sandals were back in the hallway as a signal to the staff, I spent the rest of the day in the privacy of my rooms. I managed to sleep during the hottest hours of the afternoon, which only ensured that I would remain awake during the coolest hours of the night.

I had dreamed of Matsuri again. The sweltering temperature had become the heat of passion in my fitful mind, and the physical intimacy we had shared was vivid, intense, urgent. But it had ended much the same. Matsuri had kissed me and then faded away, as before, and I had blindly searched for her.

For the second time, sand from the gourd was suspended like a shroud above my bed when I awoke.

Why did my spirit conjure these visions? How could I feel the touch of her lips against mine when I have never known a single kiss? How could I imagine sex as an act of love when it has only meant violence and death in my waking life? How could we seem so close, only to be separated by a veil of darkness?

I did not understand.

I wiped the sweat from my chest and forehead and sat up, sand rolling and curling around me on an unseen wave. With a flex of my hand I sent it back to the gourd and slowly got out of bed. The smooth stone of the terrace was hot beneath my bare feet, and the sky far too bright for my eyes. But I did not care. The sun would set on this strange day soon enough.

Surveying the village below, I tried to gather my scattered thoughts.

The peace Naruto achieved had given all shinobi the opportunity to deepen the meaning of our lives. We had time to pursue other skills and hobbies. Time to pursue relationships. But shinobi were not built for leisure, were not instruments tuned to the delicate harmony of every day life. We were soldiers. It would take time and patience to retrain ourselves.

In the meantime, pain, longing, and confusion seemed to reign in my family. There was Kankuro, interested in a girl who didn't see his value. There was Temari, torn between self-respect and her love for an apathetic genius. And there was me.

As I had so early this morning I slid my hands into my hair, closed my eyes, and leaned against the terrace wall.

Did the council…my staff…the whole village think I was punishing Matsuri? That she had done something wrong? Naturally it would be perceived as punishment. Who would consider assignment to Iwagakure a reward? Isn't that what Matsuri must have thought?

I remembered the small rock she had sent back in the mouth of Chiyo's bird. What had she written?

_It is not soft or beautiful, neither does it shine in the sun. But it is sturdy. I hope it reminds you of the faith you placed in me to represent you here._

It was exile.

Matsuri's final visit to my office replayed in my mind. I could see the look of hesitation on her face, and hear the tremble in her voice...

_If there is nothing else, then—_

If there was nothing else. She had not asked for anything, but had given me a chance to explain why I was sending her away. And I didn't. But I could not admit then what I could now…that I loved her, and that I had to send her away – away from me and toward safety – _because_ I loved her.

I would try to explain my decision to her now, but how could I write the words I did not have the courage to say when I let her go?

Mindful of surveillance by the guards, I stepped inside to brood and pace my room in private. As I made my third round, I nearly stepped on a letter just as it was slipped under the door. It was Kankuro in the hallway, I was certain of it. I was equally certain that daylight from the windows behind me would make my shadow visible beneath the door's edge, but I kept still and silent. I did not wish to be disturbed.

When the sound of his feet had faded away, I bent to pick up the envelope. It was addressed in Matsuri's graceful handwriting. I pushed the sheer curtains aside, sat on the edge of the bed, and opened her letter.

_Dear Kazekage-sama, _

_My mission is going well. Setsuji arranged for me to give a talk about Suna to a class at the nearby school last week. Lots of young minds full of good questions. They all knew your face and name._

_Thank you for the drawings of the culture center. It is truly an amazing work of art, and will stand forever as a small part of your legacy. Setsuji showed the drawings to the Tsuchikage and his staff. They were all very impressed. I look forward to the day when I can see it again in person._

_I have continued to work with Setsuji on the Iwa clan records and our plans for a display at the center. The festival I mentioned before was held last night. I was supposed to perform one of our traditional dances, if you remember. I think my dress – the costume with the gold thread and beads – was a little more revealing than they're used to around here. Some of the reactions were, well, not what I expected. But the festival was a success, all things considered. _

_The letter you sent with the drawings last week was short and I have not heard from you since then, so I'm guessing you are very busy. I don't receive many letters in general. My beautiful sand pendant helps me stay connected, but I feel too far from home when there is no news._

_I hope you are well, Gaara. How is Ki-chan? Better, I'm sure, now that she is in expert hands._

_I did hear from Sari. She said Kankuro has started a program to help children like Denji. It's a wonderful idea, and while your brother is the face of it, I know it came from your heart and your hand. I was surprised you didn't tell me about it yourself, since we had spoken of Denji before, but it doesn't matter now. I just wish I could have seen Denji's face when he found out he would get to do something special._

_As I said, I know you are busy but I need your help. I'm feeling confused about something very personal, and hope you remember saying I might ask anything of you. There is really no one else to answer this question. _

_How can I tell if a man loves me? _

_Yours sincerely, Matsuri_

Heart pounding against my sternum, I could hardly breathe. As I read the letter again and again, a cold and bitter fear crept into my mind.

Did she mean me or Setsuji?

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><p><strong>AN:** Once again, I apologize for how long it took me to update this story. I could list all the reasons, but why? Thanks to everyone for reading, and special thanks to those who have left reviews. Your feedback means a lot. Happy New Year!


	7. If Chance Will Have Me King

**A/N:** My apologies to everyone who has faithfully read this story. I'm embarrassed it's taken me so long to update. I can only say that I have no intention of abandoning this fic. I will finish it, and will continue to update when I can.

Many thanks to **Scarlett71177** for always being there and listening to my ideas. Thanks also to new friends **Fanwoman** and **Dragunov**; your enthusiasm (for all my stories) means a lot.

All recognizable characters, locations, and concepts are the property of **Masashi Kishimoto**. No copyright infringement is intended.

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: If Chance Will Have Me King<strong>

"What words would you have for me now, Father? Have I truly surpassed you?"

I stood before the grave marker of the honored Fourth Kazekage, surrounded by the deep lavender light of early morning. Another intimate dream of Matsuri had awakened me and I had left the blanket of sand hovering above my bed, dressed, and under the watchful eyes of the village guards had made my way to the cemetery. The sweet, dewy air was cool against my face and neck, and its chill found every well of skin exposed by the mesh shirt I wore.

It was a reflection of my profound confusion that I sought the counsel of a man who could not answer me.

My ascent to the rank of Kage had happened so quickly. So unexpectedly. I had been a genin at the Chunin Exams, a tool strategically positioned to unleash Shukaku and willfully strike at the heart of Konohagakure upon Father's command. But wounded by Sasuke during our match, and then ultimately beaten by Naruto's determination and philosophy, I had fled – Temari and Kankuro with me. We had returned to Suna, to the news that Father and his guards had been murdered by Orochimaru, their faceless bodies left to rot in the desert heat.

As the oldest son the responsibility of arranging Father's funeral had fallen to Kankuro. Even now I could easily recall every detail of the bone-picking ceremony… the stifling heat of that day, the feel of the long ebony chopsticks between my fingers as I slowly began to accept that the man I had feared and hated, and yet had secretly longed to please, had been reduced to a pile of ash and bone. That ritual – when Kankuro, Temari, and I had taken turns as partners, picking up Father's bones and placing them into the urn in silence – was the first truly collaborative act we had ever performed as siblings.

Nothing had been overlooked. His surviving family, as well as the entire village, had sent Father on to the next life with all the devotion and reverence due the Kazekage. It was ironic, how in accordance with Buddhist tradition he had been given a new name to prevent his return to this world – an old custom of serenity and respect that was eventually trampled upon by the profane Yakushi Kabuto. And then, with the Fourth Kazekage properly buried and mourned, the council had not hesitated to execute its most important role and fill the void left by his death. I had been summoned to appear before them less than an hour after the final funeral service.

It had been almost too much to take in. In the span of a few days my soul had emerged from the darkness and chaos that had bound it, and I was no longer merely Father's weapon. I had been set on the path to becoming his successor – in both military leadership and human frailty.

Fallible. Perhaps that was the best word. The word that reflected a Kazekage's struggle to balance public responsibility with his private feelings. Before his reanimated corpse had been sealed away that day on the battlefield, my father was able to acknowledge the pain his decisions and actions had inflicted. He had done his best to express his true feelings. He had done his best, in those final moments, to say what needed to be said. I wished to do the same – now, in life – before my intentions became nothing more than haunting regret that could never be acted upon. And yet I did not know how.

_How can I tell if a man loves me?_

Matsuri was waiting for my answer. What could I say to her? That she need look no further than my behavior to recognize the face of love? Could I possibly hope to explain how the man who loves her chose separation? That he has withheld his love because he fears losing his sanity and decency in its depth? I wanted to give Matsuri something more than an artless stuttering of excuses. I wanted to give her a commitment that I could be all that she deserved.

_And by the way, best for her would have been an honest expression of your feelings and damn the consequences._

My sister might be right; Temari certainly possessed the nerve and impatience to risk damning the consequences. But Temari was not the Kazekage.

A heavy realization settled in my chest then, and I tried to breathe deeply to ease the painful pounding of my heart. It was my duty to set an example for Suna, and to represent the ways and values of its people by the way I lived my life. I could never have a series of casual affairs the way Kankuro has, even if I wished. And it meant that if I entered into a public relationship with a woman, it would be assumed I had chosen wisely and for a lifetime. Everyone in the village would expect me to marry her and raise a family.

How could I be thinking such things?

Reaching out to touch the gravestone, my fingertip traced the channel of gold that outlined the symbol of Suna at its crest. It was the only marker in the cemetery ornamented in this way. Kankuro had insisted on the gold, to honor Father's affinity for it. The metal decoration made the symbol resemble an hourglass, a reminder that time and life were slipping by.

"How did you know what to do, Father?" I whispered.

I became aware, then, that someone was approaching the cemetery. The nearby entrance was obscured by dunes, but with the desert laying quietly under the sunless sky and the village still asleep, I did not have to concentrate to sense the small shifts that vibrations caused in the sand beneath my feet. Each step that drew the visitor closer gave me information. From the length of stride and the impact of one heel striking deeper than the other, I knew it was a middle-aged man with a tender knee. My face was turned in his direction before he came into view.

The instant he saw me he seemed almost frozen in place. "Forgive me, Kazekage-sama. I did not mean to intrude," said Bokuyo, his voice quiet as he bowed and began to turn away.

"No – please," I said, halting him in mid-step. The master glass smith's gaze remained averted out of respect. I knew why, but after so many conversations, and twice sharing food in his home, his reserve disappointed me. "Please, Bokuyo. There is no need for such formality. It is only I… Gaara."

Bokuyo smiled in a way that told me he understood. He stepped closer. "I am surprised to see you. I've never seen anyone at the cemetery at this hour."

I noticed he was dressed in the clothes he usually wore in his workshop, but that was in the opposite direction. "Do you come here often?" I said.

"Yes, every morning."

His expression took on a shadow of sadness then, and I regretted my question. Surely I was the intruder.

"When Naoki was sick, near the end, the fever blinded him, and—" Bokuyo paused to swallow hard, and I could sense the fresh pain gripping his heart. "Naoki… he was not quite three and terrified of the dark."

"I am sorry. I should not have asked—"

Dismissing my apology with a wave of his hand, he continued. "I visit him at sunrise each day… so he will know the darkness has gone." Bokuyo couldn't look me in the eye. "Foolishness, I'm sure, to someone as fearless as you."

"No, Bokuyo."

As if he had aged a lifetime in the last few moments, Bokuyo took a weary breath and squared his shoulders. "And you?" he said, a more familiar tone returning to his voice. "What brings you to this place so early in the morning?"

"Foolishness," I said with a wry smile that soon faded. I glanced toward Father's gravestone once more. "I am a son in need of a father's advice."

"Hmm." Bokuyo nodded slowly. "And I am a father with no son to advise." After a brief hesitation he added, "Perhaps we could help each other… Gaara."

His use of my name was meant as an offer of confidentiality. It was a promise that I could speak as myself and not as the Kazekage. And I had to admit there were times during past visits when I had been tempted to confide in this kind man who had become my friend. I was drawn to him. He possessed a practical inner peace I envied, and I had faith in his wisdom and discretion. I believed he valued me for myself, for who I really was. There was no reason I should feel such fear.

"I would like that," I said quickly, before I lost the nerve to speak.

Bokuyo smiled. "I'll only be a moment," he said, and walked off in the direction of Naoki's grave.

I crossed my sandaled feet and sat in the sand. Only the very surface was cool; as I settled down the layers underneath were still warm, and I no longer felt chilled. When Bokuyo returned he lowered himself to sit beside me. There was an unhealthy grind in the joint of his left knee.

That was the last sound for some time, as I summoned the courage to share my tangled thoughts and feelings. Soon Bokuyo would understand, in a manner few others did, that I was far from fearless.

As the awkward silence stretched on, he placed an encouraging hand on my shoulder. "Let yourself be open and life will be easier."

He had quoted the Buddha, but it was not the realization of spiritual kinship that brought the sting of tears to my eyes. Beyond my family, a handshake with Naruto, and the soft touch of Matsuri's fingers when she placed her potted cactus in my hand, no one had ever willingly touched me. The warmth and strength of the simple gesture threatened my sense of calm when it should not, and it only deepened my conflict. It was the best place to begin.

"I am not a normal man," I said.

Bokuyo nodded. "That's true, I suppose you're not. There are few who ever become the Kazekage, and even fewer at your age. You have already achieved what would take several lesser men to accomplish in a lifetime."

"I do not mean because I am the Kazekage, or because I led thousands of shinobi through war and into an era of peace." I sighed and his hand finally slid from my shoulder. "I mean because… I fear what I am."

"And what are you, Gaara?" said Bokuyo, his expression thoughtful.

I looked away from his steady gaze. As sympathetic and trustworthy as he might be, I could never speak to him of Shukaku's possession. He was a glass smith, not a shinobi, and could not fully grasp what it meant to be a jinchuriki – what it meant to be a living weapon, nurtured by a demon until being freed by death and a new life. He would not understand.

I studied the countless burn scars on his hands until I thought of a truthful way to answer his question.

"I am… desperate when I wish to be calm… distant when I wish to be open," I said, gathering a handful of sand that had already begun to form an outline around me. "I am cold when I wish to be loving, and confused… when I want most to be certain." I sighed. "I am stained by the past when I want to be worthy of a future."

"You are a man in love," Bokuyo said simply.

The sand slipped between my fingers as I stared at him. How could it be so obvious?

He nodded again. Apparently my shocked silence was all the confirmation he needed.

"We wondered – Mariko and I," he went on, a mysterious smile lighting his weathered face. "When you showed interest in how we met – in our life together. Most young men do not ask questions about married life unless they have found love." His smiled widened. "We wondered when there might be… happy news?"

To my knowledge Bokuyo had never seen me with Matsuri, did not even know her name. Yet already there was an expectation of marriage.

"She does not know how I feel," I said.

"Why would you not tell her?"

"Because I fear I can never be worthy of her."

"Uh…hmm." It was the first time I had seen Bokuyo laugh. His dark eyes flashed brightly as deep lines formed at the outside corners. "You are the Kazekage! What man alive is more worthy?"

I shook my head slowly. "I do not mean the position I hold, but the man I truly am inside. It is myself… my character that I fear is unworthy."

"I see." Although Bokuyo continued to smile his brow was furrowed. "A man of conscience is always the first to condemn himself without mercy. Why don't you let her decide?"

"Because—" Confusion and uncertainty pressed in on my thoughts and I closed my eyes. I could hear the primal music, could see Matsuri in that dress. My pulse raced. "There is so much she doesn't know. About what I am… about the things I have done, and I—"

"And you believe if she knew these things she would not love you?" I was grateful that Bokuyo's tone held no surprise or judgment.

"Yes." I sighed again. "No." I remembered the look of complete trust in Matsuri's eyes before she left for Iwa, and Kankuro's words of assurance that she had always seen beyond the monster I was. "I don't know." How could I explain that it was not Matsuri's feelings I feared as much as my own? "What I feel when I am near her… it frightens me. I am afraid that if I—"

When it was obvious I was unable to continue, the reassuring hand returned to my shoulder. After a series of deep, calming breaths I opened my eyes.

"It's all right, Gaara," Bokuyo said with a softer laugh. "You are not so different from other men as you think."

I forced myself to meet his gaze. "What do you mean?"

"Women… they are strong and mysterious creatures. They do not fear the way they make us feel. They—" He paused unnaturally, and I could sense the blood beneath his skin before it colored his face. "They melt us down with the fire that rages in our own bodies… that's how it begins."

I could only stare at him.

"It's normal to fear it," he went on. "It is a fierce, confusing heat that consumes a man until he can no longer recognize himself… until he is little more than molten desire."

"Yes."

"But just as it is with glassmaking, Gaara, love is a process of purification and alchemy." He scooped sand with his free hand and held it out, letting it drain slowly onto my outstretched palm. "What was once rough and crude and useless on its own," he said, tipping his head toward the sand, "is forged into something new and beautiful – something that can only exist because of the fire."

He tightened his grip on my shoulder, silently asking if I understood. It was strange, but his simple analogy had given me a sense of hope I had not expected. Bokuyo had never been possessed by Shukaku. He had never assaulted and murdered. And yet he had felt the fiery madness too. Perhaps I could be a normal man after all.

I nodded. "What must I do?"

"It is simple, Gaara." Bokuyo smiled once more. "If you love this woman, and believe in her love for you, then submit to the fire you cannot control. It is the only way two can become one."

* * *

><p>When Bokuyo and I had gone our separate ways I had returned to the tower. Having placed my sandals outside the door to my rooms, I had then spent the next several hours suspended in deep meditation. Travelling to the astral plane, the matter of my body had once again been scattered like sand through time. United with all cosmic dust, the universe had expanded and stretched in my mind, and I had been drawn into the event horizon that was my future.<p>

I had felt no fear and was instead reborn.

Bathed and charged with energy, I now sat at the desk in my office. For some time I had known what I wanted – who I wanted – and with Bokuyo's counsel I finally believed it was within my reach. The ink on the letter to Matsuri had dried quickly in the warm breeze that drifted in from the north windows. I picked up the sheet of crisp paper and reread my message to her.

_Dear Matsuri:_

_Thank you for your letter. I am well. Ki-chan is also well._

_Please forgive me if I have seemed distant and unreachable, or if I have added to your sense of isolation. It was not something I meant to do. The truth is that you, and your assignment in Iwagakure at my command, have never left my mind._

_About your mission, it is time that you come home. You have been in Iwa more than a month now, and that is long enough to gain insight into their culture. I intend to notify the Tsuchikage that it is my wish for you to return to Suna as soon as possible, but I wanted you to know first. I will send Baki to assist you._

_It will be good to have you back. The cultural center is nearing completion, and I feel there are many final details that would benefit from your taste and opinion. I look forward to touring the building and sharing ideas with you soon. _

_Kankuro is managing the orphan program very well and deserves the credit. He and I have not seen eye to eye as brothers lately so I have kept my distance, and I will explain why when I see you. On Sunday the children will be flying the kites they have made under Kankuro's direction. You should have returned to Suna by then, and will be able to see the work Denji has done for yourself._

_Finally, you requested my thoughts on a personal matter. You asked how you will know when a man loves you. It is not an easy question to answer in a letter. What I can say now is that no matter how it might seem, your welfare will always be at the heart of his actions, and when he believes the time is right he will leave you in no doubt of his feelings. The rest of my thoughts I would prefer to keep until I can share them with you in person._

_Safe journey._

_Sincerely yours, _

_Gaara_

I had just finished reading when Baki slid open the office door and entered with a breakfast tray and the post. I folded the letter, slipped it into an envelope, and stamped it with my private seal before I reached for the mesh shirt I had draped over the back of my chair.

"Kazekage-sama," said Baki, pretending not to notice my casual appearance.

"Good morning." Once he had set the tray next to my papers I handed him three envelopes. "Send this with our fastest messenger bird – immediately," I said, indicating the letter to Matsuri. "The one to the Tsuchikage should arrive shortly after hers. The letter to Naruto is not urgent – any time today will be fine."

"Kazekage-sama?"

Baki's surprise was not unexpected. It was unusual for me to make such a specific request about outgoing correspondence, and I could tell from the change in his posture that he was anticipating my next order.

"Please prepare to leave for Iwagakure as soon as possible." I stood and worked my arms through the sleeves of the shirt and pulled it over my head. "I want you to assist Matsuri with her return home," I said.

"Is something wrong, Kazekage-sama?"

"No." I met his eye but offered nothing more.

Although Baki bowed to acknowledge my order, his questioning gaze followed me as I moved from behind the desk and toward the door. "What about your breakfast?"

"I will eat later. Right now I am late for the cultural center – they are testing the waterfall for the first time today." I paused to take my crimson coat from the hook. "Do you have any questions, Baki?"

"No, Kazekage-sama," he said. "I will leave within the hour. I should return with Matsuri in two days' time."

"Thank you."

I could sense Baki staring after me as I walked down the hallway and turned up the stairs to the roof. He was beginning to understand that life in the tower was about to change.

Still buttoning my coat, I stepped out the door and into the hot sunshine. She would be home in two days, and then I would look at her all I wanted. I would smell her perfume again. I would tell her I loved her. I would tell her everything. In two days.

_Let yourself be open and life will be easier._

I jumped toward the cloudless sky with a smile on my face.

* * *

><p>"What did you expect, Gaara?" said Kankuro as he followed me to my office. "What do hammerheads know about water pumps and splash pools? This is the desert."<p>

A few of the brightest stars were already hovering above the horizon toward the south, but there was still enough daylight streaming in the windows to see well without using power.

"I knew it would be a challenge, but I did not foresee a leak of that proportion," I said.

"Well, at least they got it under control before it soaked through the floor and into the ceiling of the level below." Kankuro laughed. "Did you see how fast they moved to clean up the mess? They were scared to death of you."

"I don't understand why."

Kankuro snorted from the doorway. "You don't? Because right before that they were standing there slackjawed while water poured over the freaking Kazekage's feet!"

I removed my coat and put it back on the hook, then moved to the desk and began to sort through the afternoon post. The letters and scrolls had been placed on the wrong corner, proof that Baki's duties were taken on by Masuto, a member of my domestic staff who was not familiar with my work habits.

"I did not threaten them," I said absently.

"But they know that's not your style – you'd just stare them down and choke the life out of them with the loose sand from your pockets." When I did not reply Kankuro sighed. "Hey, I thought we were going to play cards?"

I flicked through the last few envelopes. "Yes, we'll play."

And I meant it. Kankuro and I had spent much of the afternoon talking. He had finally opened up to me about his progress with the mentoring program, and I had shared my decision to bring Matsuri home and tell her everything. He hadn't been this at ease with me in weeks, and it had been much longer since we had challenged each other at cards. It felt like we were truly brothers again, and I did not want to waste the opportunity.

"You just wrote her a few hours ago, you know," Kankuro said. I glanced at him. He was still waiting impatiently at the threshold, his hands on his hips. "If she's going to be home in two days she wouldn't waste any time writing back, would she?"

He was right, I knew, but I had hoped. I shrugged.

"Come on, brother. A few rounds of Karuta, a bottle of sake… next thing you know she'll be here."

"All right," I said, and tossed the disappointing stack of letters back on the desk. They slid across its surface and hit the scrolls, and the Tsuchikage's mark caught my eye. "Wait."

Kankuro sighed loudly. "What now?"

I picked up the roll of parchment, broke the seal, and quickly scanned the content. Even at first glance his message appeared terse and to the point.

_Kazekage-sama,_

_Your order to recall Matsuri-chan displeases me. When you suggested this exchange we had initially agreed she would stay in Iwagakure until she had an understanding of our rich history of art and culture. Yet she has barely scratched the surface! _

My vision blurred for a moment. Matsuri-chan?

_If she must return immediately as you claim, I insist that Kitano Setsuji, our cultural liaison, be permitted to return with her. I must also insist that he be given the same unrestricted access to your clan records and historical information as Matsuri has been granted to ours. I remind you these requests are within my rights and the terms of the exchange mission you proposed._

_There is another matter, another reason why Setsuji must complete his part of the exchange mission in Sunagakure now. While Matsuri may be one of many trusted kunoichi in your ranks, in the time she has been here she has come to mean a great deal to Setsuji. He had of course informed me of his intention to marry her, and her sudden departure orders prompted him to ask her today. _

_Matsuri's answer was unclear. She has deferred her final decision until she speaks to you. I assume this is because she has no father to grant permission and her allegiance is sworn to your command. It is an outdated custom, but not unheard of for female orphans in military service. Her loyalty and dedication to duty speaks of her character. Setsuji has chosen well._

_You are honorable and trustworthy, Kazekage-sama, and I value our alliance. So you may understand me clearly, Setsuji is the youngest son of my oldest friend. He is a fine young man of intelligence and means, and there are no grounds for Matsuri-chan to reject his offer. I am as determined to see him happy as I would be if he were my own child. _

_While I had hoped the matter of this marriage would work itself out in the natural course of things, your premature termination of our agreement leaves me no choice but to ask that you agree to meet with Setsuji and give your approval._

_Sincerely,_

_Sandaime Tsuchikage_

It was an official scroll with his seal, not a personal letter. Although the Tsuchikage was careful to word it as a favor, he was in fact making a formal request. It was a political matter now.

My hands were already tied.

"What is it, Gaara?" Kankuro was suddenly standing beside me, the cavalier tone gone from his voice. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

My brother's hand was raised to shield his squinting eyes from the sand that had already begun to spin around me. He was waiting for an answer but I said nothing.

I was too consumed with rage to speak.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** If anyone's still reading I'd love to hear from you. Any guesses what Gaara will do next?


	8. Hell is Empty, All the Devils Are Here

**A/N:** Two updates in less than two weeks! Can you believe it? :)

As usual, many thanks to **Scarlett71177** for the listening and support.

All recognizable characters, locations, and concepts are the property of **Masashi Kishimoto**. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Hell is Empty and All the Devils Are Here<strong>

From somewhere beyond the dark haze of rage I could hear the shouting.

"Gaara! _Gaara!_"

I resisted. Sound, light, reality, the pull of reason. I resisted and raged on. I could see _him_… faceless, on his knees before me, pale and gasping as my sand poured down his throat… filling his lungs, filling his mind…

"Gaara!"

The shouts were now twisted with pain and something closed around my wrist with near bone-crushing force.

"Damn it, Gaara! LISTEN TO ME!"

My brother's voice had threaded its way into the shuddering fury and I opened my eyes. The tight spiral of sand that spun around me was streaked with a band of red, the color streaming from an arm that had been thrust into the storm to reach me.

I looked down at the hand – Kankuro's hand – and what I saw barely registered. It was raw and shiny red, and I could feel the fine mist of his blood through my mesh shirt. His grip on my wrist tightened.

"GAARA, STOP THIS! NOW!" he said.

It was enough to break through my private ravings, and by force of will I sought to control myself. Within a few moments the furious energy began to drain away, the sand scattering and drifting to the floor. Only then did Kankuro release me, and only then did I see the full extent of what I had done.

As it had been with the wall and stained glass window at the cultural center, my fit of jealousy had left damage in its wake. Everything within a half-meter radius of where I stood had been marred by the sand, and spattered with my brother's blood. Nearly all the skin on Kankuro's hand and forearm had been stripped away. Apparently he'd had the presence of mind to use my crimson coat as a defense, forcing his arm through one sleeve before attempting to reach me, but it had not been much protection. The sleeve was in shreds now, and in places it was impossible to tell where the fabric ended and Kankuro's scoured flesh began.

Shame and humiliation began to fill the void left by my receding anger. I was a fool.

"I am… I am sorry, Kankuro," I said, barely able to choke the words from my dry, constricted throat.

In one swift motion Kankuro pulled his arm from what remained of the sleeve of my coat and swore through clenched teeth. "And you don't understand why the hammerheads were afraid of you?" he said, his tone pained but still heavy with sarcasm.

Before I could reply Temari appeared in the office doorway.

"What the hell is going on?" she hissed as she switched on the lights. "I could hear the shouting all the way from my—"

Her gaze rested on Kankuro's injury for several seconds before she leveled it at me. It was a silent accusation, proving she already had an idea what had happened.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Kankuro said quickly, holding his arm close. Out of the corner of my eye I could see he had moved his foot to cover the blood that had dripped on the floor.

"Please take Kankuro to the hospital," I said. My sister opened her mouth to speak, but I was barely in control and in no mood to hear whatever she intended to say. "Now, Temari." I looked away and sighed. "Once Kankuro has been treated and his pain relieved, I will… I will explain."

"All right," she said.

Kankuro moved toward the door, then hesitated and looked back. "Are you going to be okay?" He knew the last time I had done something like this I had been jealous over Matsuri, and must have assumed the same was true now.

I nodded. His concern for me, when I had injured him, only deepened my feelings of guilt.

After they had gone and I was mercifully alone, I got a towel from my private bathroom and cleaned up the blood. It was not a task I could leave to the staff. I knew I could depend upon Kankuro to explain his injury to the medical-nins without revealing the embarrassing truth, and the damage to my crimson coat was unimportant as I had several. I would easily dispose of it without raising questions. But blood spatter in the Kazekage's office was a different matter entirely.

When all was in as much order as possible, I sank into my chair and sat in silence. The night air that drifted in the north windows was cool and fresh, but it brought me no pleasure. The Tsuchikage's scroll clutched tightly in my hand, I stared at the side of the desk. The desk that had belonged to all the Kazekage before me was now scarred – pitted and worn down because of my immaturity. My stupidity.

How could I have sent Matsuri to Iwagakure? How could I have let this happen… let her slip away?

I did not know how much time had passed when I heard Temari's footsteps outside the doorway. Enough that she and Kankuro had been to the hospital and back. I did not raise my head when she stepped inside the office.

"Kankuro is resting in his room now," she said.

I nodded slowly. "And the damage to his hand?"

"Like he said, it wasn't quite as bad as it looked." I could sense she was angry but trying to withhold judgment until she knew the facts. I did not blame her. "Considering the specialty of his techniques relies on the sensitivity of his fingers, he took a big risk trying to help you."

Still I did not look at her. "I am aware, Temari."

She sighed impatiently. "It's painful and will scar, but he's not angry with you – if that's what you're worried about."

"No, that is not what I am worried about," I said.

"Then?" I glanced at her and she folded her arms. "You said you would explain."

"Yes."

I rose from my chair and followed her down the hallway to Kankuro's room. He was propped up in bed, his left arm wrapped in a thick bandage up to the elbow and laying on a stack of pillows. His eyes were overly bright, no doubt the result of painkillers, but his gaze was fixed on me from the moment I came into view.

"Again, I am sorry, Kankuro," I said.

"Forget it," he said.

I nodded and held out the scroll I had been sent by the Tsuchikage. Temari stared at me for a moment before she took it from my hand. Unrolling it, she held it at an angle such that she and Kankuro could read it at the same time. I knew Kankuro finished reading first because he leaned his head back and swore. Temari simply watched me from Kankuro's bedside as I began to pace.

"It is my fault. I have no one to blame but myself," I said.

"Gaara—" Temari began, but I stopped her.

"You said it yourself, Temari. You said that I alone sent Matsuri away without telling her how I felt. That because of my past… my pride, my position – my fear of intimacy – that I sent her into exile and publicly humiliated her." I paused and looked straight into my sister's dark blue eyes, finding a mixture of pity and compassion there. "You said it."

She did not try to argue this time. I resumed my pacing.

Kankuro seemed to be in shock. "No," he said, his voice quiet at first, as if he were talking to himself and trying to remember something. Then louder he said, "No. No, no, no." He shook his head stubbornly. "There's no way Matsuri wants this guy. No way. She loves you, Gaara. I know it. I would bet my life on it."

My brother had no idea how much I wanted to believe his bold statement, but at that moment I struggled to share in his unshakeable confidence. "It would not be wise to bet your life, Kankuro," I said.

"I agree with him, Gaara," Temari cut in. "Anyone who has ever seen Matsuri with you – or even heard her talk about you – can tell she loves you. She has forever. And she's only been there for what? A month or so? Known this other guy for six weeks? It doesn't make any sense."

While Temari's confidence was nearly equal to Kankuro's, I could not give too much weight to her words. She had her own reasons to believe in a love that could withstand any amount of time, distance, or political complication, although I would not be so cruel as to remind her.

"Exactly," said Kankuro. "It doesn't make sense." He jerked his undamaged thumb toward the Tsuchikage's message. "Besides, the old man says Matsuri's answer was _unclear_, right? If this guy is so great, and she wanted him, why wouldn't she just say yes?"

Temari was reading the scroll again. "And this part… about an outdated custom – _not unheard of for female orphans in military service_ – what does that even mean? We have no custom like that, outdated or not." Temari also shook her head stubbornly. "Kankuro is right – if Matsuri wanted to marry this guy she would just do it. She doesn't need your permission."

My siblings meant well, but everything they said felt like a stab to my heart. Didn't they understand?

"I think she was trying to tell me. She mentioned him often in her letters," I said. The next words made me sick but I knew I had to say them. "And she asked me… she asked me how she could tell when a man loves her."

That seemed to dampen their confidence, and both Kankuro and Temari stared at me.

I slowly gave up any pretense of control. Raking claw-like fingers into my hair, I tried to shut out the world. I could not stop imagining him with her... speaking confidences, breathing her perfume, touching her, kissing her… The pain in my chest was almost more than I could bear.

_Although it doesn't bleed, it hurts so much._

"Gaara, please – please calm down," said Temari. She was upset.

I opened my eyes and understood her concern; sand was beginning to collect in the air around me again. I forced a deep breath and walked to Kankuro's window, my back to the room to hide my feelings and the trembling of my hands.

"Nothing is settled yet," Temari went on. "You need to talk to Matsuri first – see what she says."

"Damn right," said Kankuro. "You can't just roll over because that old fart sends you a letter of demands, Gaara. The whole reason you ordered Matsuri home was so _you_ could be with her. Two hours ago you believed it was going to happen – that you love her and she loves you. What happened to that?"

It was a good question, and one that took all my courage to answer.

"I, Gaara, may have feelings for Matsuri, but as the Kazekage I do not have the freedom to act upon them any way I wish." I sighed heavily. "Whether it is fair or not, makes sense or not, the Tsuchikage has formally stated his expectations. The Wind's alliance with Earth, as with all the other lands, was sealed with the blood of many lives. I cannot carelessly risk or even put strain on the meaning of that sacrifice just to serve my personal desires."

Temari scoffed. "You can't possibly think the Tsuchikage would—"

"That he would break our alliance over a woman?" I said over my shoulder. "No. He is too wise and honorable. But he is also proud, demanding… unyielding. From his perspective Matsuri is simply _one of many kunoichi in my ranks_ and no one precious to me. You cannot fault him for thinking it, Temari. Matsuri's assignment to Iwa was interpreted by my own council as a punishment, was it not?" I didn't wait for her answer. "I did not mean for any of this to happen in this way, but it has and it is too late."

"What are you saying?" said Temari, her voice little more than a whisper.

I folded my arms and stared down at the quiet village that was my purpose and duty. "I am saying… that if Matsuri wants this marriage—" I paused to take a painful swallow, "I will not interfere."

"That's complete bullshit," said Kankuro. There was a whacking sound and I assumed Temari had hit in him. "Well, it is! It's crazy! He can't—"

"Enough, Kankuro," I said, having reached my limit of control again. He fell silent but I could sense he was seething.

I took another deep breath to compose myself and walked to the door. "It is customary for official visitors to be given quarters here in the tower," I began.

"I'll take care of it," said Temari, although it seemed as if the words were bitter to her.

"Thank you." I glanced at Kankuro then. "I'm sorry."

I left them and returned to my rooms, placing my sandals in the hall. Standing before the mirror in my private bathroom, I pulled the mesh shirt over my head and stared at the checkered pattern left by the spray of Kankuro's blood.

Who was I to love an innocent girl?

In truth I was no closer to deserving Matsuri. Bokuyo had proven to me that all men suffer the fire of lust, but that was only part of what raged within me. At the core of my being I was still a savage, my soul still echoed with Shukaku's hatred and insanity. I was still selfish, immature, brutal, and unstable, my first instinct to see my rival dead. Perhaps Matsuri would be better off – would be happier living a pure and honorable life with another man.

A man who was not stained with blood.

* * *

><p>For the second time in as many days I woke suddenly. Breathing hard, as if I'd been running in my sleep, my heart pounding painfully. Although much like all the others in the last month, this dream was more intense – more urgent. Somehow more real. Matsuri had been with me, in my bed. She had kissed me slowly, meaningfully, and whispered that she loved me. But the happiness I had felt in her heart was overshadowed by fear. A fear of me. And then the terrible moment had come, as it always did, she had slipped from my arms, and I made the same blind and desperate search for her in the darkness…<p>

Once again my sand hung suspended only a few inches above me, and it stirred like a heavy mist as I sat up and wiped the sweat from my face and neck. With a flex of my hand I sent it through the gap in the sheer curtain and back to the gourd, and then moved to the edge of the bed. The lavender sky beyond the windows was enough to tell me it was early, and the clock on my bedside table read a few minutes before five-thirty.

My vision blurred as I stared at the smooth adobe wall. Kankuro's prediction – _next thing you know she'll be here_ – was correct, although the last two days had not passed with the sense of hopeful expectation I had imagined. Instead they had been lost to dread and resignation. It mattered little now.

They had arrived last night. Baki, Matsuri, and the guest from Iwagakure. I had been in my office, signing papers and pretending to eat my evening meal when, as a matter of routine, Baki had come in to report the completion of his assignment. He had informed me that Matsuri was back in her corner apartment, and that Kitano Setsuji, the Tsuchikage's cultural liaison, had been lodged in guest quarters three floors down – but only after he had officially requested a meeting with me as soon as possible.

I had taken the opportunity to notify Baki that I would not be found in the office at all today. That between tasks I needed to complete for the cultural center and the kite-flying ceremony for the orphaned children, I would be unavailable. It was only delaying the inevitable, I knew, but I did not care. Despite two days to prepare I was not ready to face what was coming with anything resembling civility. The anger and pain that burned inside me was a constant threat to my self-control.

Setsuji's official claim on Matsuri would wait. I understood my duty. I understood what was expected of me as the Kazekage. But I, Gaara, would not be bullied by my rival's impatience.

Chest and feet bare, I left my bedroom and walked down the hallway to the studio. I switched the light on over the workbench. It seemed like forever since I had spent time here, but that is what I had today. Time. I turned the soldering iron on to let it heat up, carefully unwrapped the sections of glass I had pre-cut for the next series of windows, and settled into my chair to work.

I had achieved a tenuous measure of inner peace and nearly completed soldering the second window when there was a knock on the wall outside the door. I knew it was my brother before he appeared. No one else would dare to come here unexpected.

"How is your arm?" I said, still focused on dropping beads of molten lead along a foil seam.

"It's better," he said, although from the corner of my eye I could see he was still favoring it. "Itches like a mother, though. I was just at the hospital getting a fresh bandage." He laughed. "Wanted it to look good for the kite flying today."

"Are you going to be able to manage?"

"Yeah, I think so. The brats have been practicing with spare kites we made." He used his favorite insult, but I could tell he didn't mean it with the same amount of disgust he used to. "A couple of the older kids are getting pretty good, actually, so they can fly their own. And I'll have help. Temari… Sari."

"That is good. I am pleased the children will not be disappointed." I could not bring myself to ask if things between my brother and Sari were improving so I let it go.

Kankuro watched me work for a while, and when he spoke again his voice was quiet with concern. "Have you seen her yet?"

That simple question shattered my sense of calm.

"No, but it is only a matter of time," I said.

"Are you going to talk to her?"

I had to consciously steady my hands to finish the seam. "Since we are both likely to attend the kite flying this afternoon, I don't think it can be avoided."

The air left my brother's chest the way it often did when he was losing his patience. "I don't mean talk to her as the Kazekage – like you will every other person who shows up there." Kankuro stepped toward me. "I mean—"

"I know what you mean, Kankuro."

"Okay… then… are you going to _talk to her_? Tell her what she needs – what she _deserves_ – to know? Are you going to tell her how you feel?"

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. The air in the studio suddenly seemed very warm and stale. "I don't know."

"Gaara—"

My brother was not the only one running out of patience. I slammed the soldering iron down on the workbench. "I thought I made it clear that this is no longer about my personal feelings, Kankuro. You know perfectly well there are other considerations now – important, political considerations that demand my attention."

"Oh, come on. You have to—"

"As I have explained," I said, raising my voice to drown him out, "if Matsuri has moved on then… it would serve no one… no purpose if I declared my love."

"But you don't know that she _has_ moved on," he said. I desperately envied the calm and conviction he possessed. "You don't know how she feels or what she thinks at all. And you won't if you don't talk to her."

There was nothing I could say that I had not already said before.

Kankuro took another step closer. He was grinding his teeth. "Gaara, I know this is your business. It's your life. But I'm your brother. It's always been my job to have your back. Always. I take it seriously."

I would not argue. Even in the dark days he was always there for me. I could not look at him, and instead watched his shadow on the wall. "I know."

"Then if… if what I think means anything to you… please. Don't be like Father. Don't ruin the rest of your life – your own happiness for the sake of the village. You gave your life to protect Suna once, and you were willing to die for it again during the war. Isn't that proof enough of your dedication?" He hesitated then, but the shadow remained still. "What's the point of peace if it isn't truly peace, and you still have to die a little inside every day for the rest of your life to maintain it?"

Kankuro left without saying anything more.

For the next several hours I cut glass and built frames, and reflected on my brother's words. Although I worked in silence, the conflict within me only grew louder as my spirit and sense of duty fought to find compromise. Matsuri… This morning's intense dream replayed over and over in my mind. I could hear her voice… taste her lips… feel her next to me…

I leaned back in the chair. Such thoughts and imaginations only stoked the fiery madness, and I shook my head to clear it. My gaze fell upon the stand of glass rods, the ones I had used to make the pendant for Matsuri. I had been so hopeful… I shook my head again. The air was scorching, stifling, and from the angle of light in the room I knew the sun had shifted deep into the west – both indications that it was late in the afternoon.

I had delayed as long as I could.

With the exception of unplugging the soldering iron and switching off the light, I did not bother to put the workbench in any sort of order before I left. A ribbon of my sand had snaked into the hallway, and it coiled around me as I walked through it on my way to my room. Annoyed, I sent it back to the gourd again before I laid out my clothes, including a new crimson coat. I bathed and dressed, and then took the stairs to the roof.

As I stepped out into the hot evening I shielded my eyes from the glare of the setting sun and immediately spotted the kites in the distance. I jumped, skimming several rooftops before landing at the back edge of the practice field. At first I kept my attention on the colorful images of the children's heroes that dotted the blue sky. All the kites were straining against their lines in the steady wind, although Kankuro's was flying the highest.

I stood some distance behind the gathering of villagers who had turned out for the event. People were milling around and talking amongst themselves, but so far I had not been noticed. Kankuro was standing near the posts where the kites were moored. Temari was there too, leaning against her fan; as it turned out she didn't need it. Sari was to Temari's left. Her head disappeared from my view for a moment, and as the crowd shifted I could see that Sari had bent down to speak to Denji. The boy was bouncing on his toes and impatiently tugging on her pant leg. She shook her head and looked up, then touched his arm and pointed in my direction.

The moment he set eyes on me Denji jumped up and down and squealed. "Gaara-sama!"

For a small child his voice managed to carry over the wind and all the other conversations, and Denji began to run toward me as fast as his legs would allow. Nearly everyone in the crowd turned in my direction, and it was then that I saw Matsuri… standing with a tall man with long blond hair. Denji slid to a stop at my feet, bouncing on his toes again as dust floated in the air around him.

"Gaara-sama! You're here!"

"Hello, Denji," I said. "Yes, I am here."

His little chest seemed to swell with pride because I knew his name. "Did you come to see my kite, Gaara-sama?"

"Yes, I did."

"Did you come to see Matsuri too? She came home!"

I could only stare at the boy.

"Come on! She's right there!" he said, pointing.

Denji's small hand took hold of mine and he began to pull me forward. No one had ever held my hand before. But even as he placed me squarely at the agonizing center of attention, and so innocently rattled my composure, the feel of Denji's fingers in my hand gave me something to focus on besides the painful pounding of my heart. In a matter of moments I was face to face with Matsuri. And Setsuji.

Just standing near her the dream that had awakened me this morning flashed through my mind again in vivid detail, and I was overwhelmed by my feelings… by the sensation of _her_.

"Kazekage-sama," Matsuri said softly, bowing.

At first her gaze remained averted out of respect, but then, after a moment, she looked me in the eye. Apart from her gold-beaded dance costume, the dress she wore today was the one I preferred. The color and the way it fit added to her beauty. Of course I had never told her.

I knew I was staring… staring at her silky brown hair that seemed much longer since I saw her last. Staring at the way strands of it strayed across her red lips in the breeze. I was staring at the blush I knew had risen in her cheeks even before I could see it. I was staring at the shine in her eyes. I was staring and could form no words.

"May I present Kitano Setsuji," she said.

I could tell her heart was racing and her breathing was uneven… I could feel the fear that had spiked within her when she spoke his name to me. The blond man bowed then, and I was forced to look away from her and shift my gaze to him. Naturally he would be taller.

"Kazekage-sama," he said.

I nodded, my face impassive.

"You are a living legend, Kazekage-sama," Setsuji continued, his easy smile revealing perfect white teeth. His long hair was tied at the back of his neck, and his clothes were cut in a casual style. The quality suggested privilege, not a surprise considering his family's old bonds with the leadership in Iwagakure. "It is an honor. I have heard much about you – from Tsuchikage-sama and, of course, from Matsuri."

His pale eyes were clear and honest, and I sensed nothing but sincerity in him. But that fact did not soften my anger or jealousy. For the savage that raged at my core, it only made things worse.

"Welcome to Sunagakure," I said. "I trust your rooms are comfortable and you have everything you need?"

"Yes, Kazekage-sama." He bowed again and then added, "Except a few minutes of your time. There is… a matter I must discuss with you."

Matsuri was staring at me. If there was ever a moment when I needed Kankuro by my side, to speak for me when I could not, it was now. But he was busy, following the orders I myself had given him.

"Please consult with Baki as he manages my schedule," I lied, returning my attention to the safety of the sky and the colorful kites.

Denji tugged at my hand. He had been so well behaved and quiet, and I had been so distracted, that I had somehow forgotten he was still standing with me. "Do you see my kite, Gaara-sama?" Denji pointed with his free hand. "Do you see it?"

"Yes, Denji, I see it. It's very good."

"I drew my father on it," he said proudly.

"Yes, I know. He is your hero."

"There's you!" Denji said, pointing again.

I could tell from the motion of my hand that he was bouncing on his toes again. Setsuji turned to look at the kites then, but Matsuri did not. "Yes, that is me," I said.

Denji leaned his head against my leg. "You're everybody's hero, Gaara-sama."

Matsuri pressed her fingers against her mouth then – a strange gesture that caught my attention. The shine in her eyes had nearly become tears, and I was overwhelmed by my feelings for her again.

I had believed I could do this. That I could endure a simple public conversation with her. With him. But I could not. The pain in my chest had become intolerable.

"You must excuse me, Denji," I said, transferring the boy's hand to Matsuri's. "Matsuri, Setsuji-san." Setsuji turned back in time to bow. My passive face barely restored, I met his eye. "Again, welcome to Suna."

"Thank you, Kazekage-sama," said Setsuji, bowing a final time. "I look forward to speaking with you soon."

Denji waved his chubby hand at me and smiled, kicking up a cloud of dust with his small sandal. "Bye, Gaara-sama!"

It felt as if every person on the practice field was watching me as I walked away. The Kazekage had a responsibility to behave appropriately and fulfill his social obligations. The Kazekage had a responsibility to genuinely welcome the return of trusted shinobi, and a respected visitor from an allied land. But today, for the first time since I had achieved the rank, the very last thing I wanted was the responsibilities of the Kazekage.

I retreated to the privacy of my rooms with the intention to meditate until I regained my sense of calm. I removed my crimson coat and mesh shirt, tossed them aside, and sat down on the bed, shifting until I could comfortably assume the lotus. I closed my eyes and slowly took control of my thoughts and emotions, and willed my consciousness to sink down to a deeper dimension…

There was a knock. And another. My brother's voice was calling my name. But he was on the practice field flying his kites. Another knock. I opened my eyes, or thought I had. My bedroom was dark. Confused and disoriented, I sat up and blinked until the bright stars beyond the windows came into focus.

I had fallen asleep.

"Gaara," Kankuro repeated, knocking again.

Switching on the lamp that stood upon my bedside table, I gave my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the light. Then I rose from the bed and moved toward the door, concern building in my mind. Kankuro would not knock on my private door in the middle of the night unless something was wrong.

"What is it?" I said as I slid the door open.

Kankuro was not alone. Matsuri was standing just in front of him. Before I could speak or even think, my brother's uninjured hand gently pushed Matsuri into my room and closed the door.

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><p><strong>AN:** Some of you might be wondering how Kankuro could reach through the sand to touch Gaara when in canon Gaara's sand defense is impenetrable. I want to explain.

Throughout this story Gaara has made an important distinction between regular sand and "his" sand. He can control all sand, just at varying degrees. Regular sand is drawn to him, responds to his will and instinct, and can eventually become charged by his chakra. But the sand in the gourd - "his" sand - is different. It is part of him, and responds to him and his emotions in deeper ways. He fights with it, it protects him, and his control over it is absolute. It is also the sand he used to fill the pendant he gave Matsuri as a gift.

The sand storm that Kankuro reached through in the opening scene was regular sand that had collected on the floor, on the window sills, in the air, and responded to Gaara's surge of chakra. If it had been sand from the gourd, Kankuro would not have been able to break through and stop him. I hope that makes sense.

Oh, and how great are you guys? The last chapter received a record number of reviews. Thank you so much! I will respond to all comments soon, but I wanted to get this chapter out while I was still on vacation.

As always, I'd love to know what you think.


	9. A Madness Most Discreet

**A/N:** I wanted to mention, if I haven't already in a previous author note, that all the chapter titles in this story are from **Shakespeare**. This chapter's title is a reference to Romeo's description of love in Act 1 of _Romeo and Juliet_.

As usual, many, many thanks to **Scarlett71177** for the listening and support.

All recognizable characters, locations, and concepts are the property of **Masashi Kishimoto**. No copyright infringement is intended.

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><p><strong>Chapter 9: A Madness Most Discreet<strong>

I was no longer disoriented by fatigue. There was far too much adrenaline in my blood for that.

Matsuri was suddenly standing before me and I was staring, just as I had a few hours ago on the practice field. In the dim light I could see she was dressed in a plain black shirt and pants, her face flushed and her hair loose and swept to one side. I could smell her perfume. My silhouette was reflected in her luminous eyes, and in the quiet stillness her heart was beating as wildly as my own.

All the feelings I needed so desperately to control – the anger and jealousy, the chaos and lust that I had sought to master in private meditation – instantly overwhelmed me once more, and I felt utterly exposed. Kankuro's manipulative trick to force this conversation was an outrage and tomorrow he would pay. Tomorrow I would do more than peel the skin from my brother's arm…

Unable to make myself presentable, or to even calm my ragged breathing, I folded my arms across my bare chest and choked out the only word I could manage with any confidence.

"Matsuri."

"Please – please don't be angry with Kankuro," she said, her voice low and breathless. Matsuri reached out a pleading hand but stopped just short of touching me. "I asked him – I begged him to bring me here to see you… Kazekage-sama."

Her use of my title tightened the grip of pain in my chest. So I was merely the Kazekage to her, here in my own room in the middle of the night.

"I am not angry," I lied.

Matsuri nodded slowly but I knew she did not believe me. She studied my face for some time, her own shadowed with apprehension, and I could sense an intense, conflicting panic within her. The Kazekage should put her at ease. The Kazekage should encourage her to speak her mind without fear of consequence. But I, Gaara, could not make such a promise.

"I came here because I need – I need to talk to you," she said.

"All right."

Although I had not consciously summoned it, a thin ribbon of my sand streamed from the gourd that was leaning against the wall in the corner and began to form a loose coil around the space where we stood.

"I wanted to talk to you before – when I saw you at the kite flying. I had hoped—" She tried to hold my gaze but looked away, a subtle shrug rolling like a shiver through her small frame. "Well, I know you're very busy and – and there isn't always time… between friends." Matsuri raised one hand to her throat in a self-conscious way, her fingers fidgeting with her shirt collar before drifting down to rest just over her heart.

_Between friends_.

The savage inside me screamed with rage. I was not her friend. A friend would not feel this way. A friend would not imagine his entire future lay hidden in her smile. A friend would not be tormented by his dreams of shared intimacy with her. A friend would not lose himself – would not have to risk his happiness, his recovered honor, his very sanity to perform his duty and let her go to another man if she chooses. No, I was not her friend.

My arms still folded, I closed my hands into tight fists and resisted the temptation to reach for her and lay claim to everything I wanted.

"What did you wish to say?" I said, my tone formal and deceptively indifferent even to my own ear.

The coil of sand curved around Matsuri's shoulders, and the havoc inside her became more distinct. Just like the sensations I had experienced in my dreams of her, I could feel her energy almost as tangibly as my own. Fear. Confusion. Kindness. Love. She was afraid… of me, of the truth, of causing pain, and I braced myself to hear the words.

"Setsuji is… he is determined to meet with you," she began, her voice uneven. "He wants to ask you… I mean—" She was twisting her hands nervously. "He has – he has asked me to—"

"He intends to marry you," I said, unable to withstand a drawn out explanation. My clenched fists ached. "I am aware."

Matsuri stared at me, her expression nearly as blank and colorless as if I'd struck her. "H-he has already spoken to you?" she said in a disbelieving whisper.

"No."

"Th-then – then how – when—?"

"I received a communication from the Tsuchikage the same day I recalled you," I said, struggling to keep all my fury and frustration from welling to the surface and blinding me. "He informed me of the match and officially requested my immediate approval."

Repeating the same strange gesture she had made earlier, Matsuri pressed her fingers against her lips, but not before a sort of strangled sound escaped them. After a few seconds she reached out again but still did not touch me.

"You have to believe," she said, shaking her head slowly, "I never wanted – I never thought you would find out that way… before I could tell you myself."

I said nothing.

Tears were forming in her eyes then, and I did not have enough strength or courage left to look at them. I focused my attention on the swirling sand instead, directing some of it toward the bedside lamp to switch it off.

"Is that your way of dismissing me, Kazekage-sama?" she said softly.

I turned away from her and faced the nearest window. "No, I am thinking of your reputation, Matsuri. This tower and my position are under constant surveillance by the village guards." I had to pause and force air into my lungs. "An offer of marriage means you should not be seen in another man's room in the dead of night – even if he is only the Kazekage."

Silence fell between us and the conflict that tortured my spirit reached an unbearable, fevered pitch. This morning's dream burned like white-hot fire in my mind – deep kisses, trust, contentment, declarations of love, the inevitable doubt and separation…

"I'm so confused," Matsuri said suddenly. "I don't know what to think anymore. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Gaara. There's no one else I can—" Her voice had broken when she said my name and she could no longer hold it steady. "Please… please help me."

She was crying and I could not bear it.

_Don't be like Father._

"What can I do, Matsuri?" I said, in little more than a whisper.

"Would you answer just one question for me?" She sniffled.

"Of course. Anything."

And I meant it. Perhaps I could never be her casual friend, and perhaps what she was about to ask would destroy me, but in that moment I knew there was nothing I would not do for her. I would do anything, promise anything to see Matsuri happy. I had learned more from Naruto than I realized.

Another wave of fear and love shuddered through her as she hesitated.

"Anything," I repeated.

"In your last letter to me you said – you said that the man who loves me… that no matter how it might seem, my welfare is always at the heart of his actions." Matsuri waited for me to reply but I only nodded. "You said that when the time was right, the man who loves me would not leave me in any doubt."

Was she carefully pointing out that Setsuji had met those conditions? That he was offering her security and an honorable life? Was she using my own words to argue for my approval on the marriage? I had already given my assurance that I would answer whatever question she asked, and yet I could not bring myself to speak any word that might separate us forever.

Matsuri stepped up close behind me. "I'm sorry to come here and ask you this," she said, "but I can't wait any longer for the time to be right – if it was ever going to be right – and I have to know or I will never forgive myself." She sniffled again. "Even if the answer breaks my heart."

"What is the question?" I said, my chest jarring too painfully to go on much longer.

"Are you that man, Gaara?"

Time seemed to stand still. Tears blurred my view of the stars and I closed my eyes. As it was with so many other important and inescapable truths I had faced in my life, my first instinct was to deny it. To hide. To insulate myself from the agony of vulnerability and rejection. But I could not lie. Not to her.

"Yes."

She made that strangled sound again. "You… you love me?"

"Yes."

"So all of this – everything since I've been home – the way you've avoided me, avoided Setsuji's requests – the anger and pain you're feeling right now… it's all because you don't believe that I love you?"

When I could neither admit nor deny it, Matsuri gently set her hands on my sides, her lips brushing my bare shoulder blade for an instant before she rested her tear-dampened cheek against it. I had never felt anything like it in my life, and my heart pounded harder still.

"Then this is me, not leaving you in any doubt," she said.

She loved me.

I finally released the tension in my fists, my arms awkwardly at my sides when I turned to her. I simply stood there, staring. Despite the tenderness I felt for her I still feared the burning madness. Hissing sparks were already racing along my veins, swiftly disconnecting what was left of my control and judgment. I did not know how to touch her with both passion and respect.

Matsuri was not as uncertain. Although she did not look me in the eye, her hands began to slide up my chest, very slowly, as if she couldn't stop them. Lost in this new sensation, I was only vaguely aware that the ribbon of sand was twisting and floating around us like an aurora. I seemed unable to breathe as she drew closer.

"I'm not one of your delicate pieces of glass, you know. I'm a kunoichi, trained by the most elite Kage in the shinobi world." Her hands eventually met at the back of my neck and she leaned flush against me, thick lashes outlining her eyes even in the relative darkness. The heart that had been beating so frantically beneath my sternum nearly stopped. "You won't break me," she whispered.

_They do not fear the way they make us feel._

My hands sought her waist and found it bare, the edge of her shirt riding up with the reach of her arms. The feel of her skin was as soft and warm as I had imagined – as it had been in my dreams of her, and the realization gave me courage that I knew what to do. That I already knew how to please her.

I kissed her. Gently, tentatively at first, then deeply and continuously.

One of her hands slid into my hair. I held her as close as I could, to feel every curve, only too aware that I was betraying my own desire. But it did not embarrass me. After so much longing and self-restraint, I wanted her to know what she did to me.

"You cannot marry him," I said against her lips, unwilling to stop kissing her long enough to say it properly. Indulging the fiery madness had emboldened the jealous savage within me. "I would see him dead first."

After a moment Matsuri drew back, her expression one of shock. I reluctantly relaxed my hold until she could stand on flat feet, but I did not let her go. Her hand drifted down over her heart once more and clutched at her shirt.

"You would really kill him, wouldn't you?" She tried to search my face.

"No—"

"Yes, you would." She reached inside her collar then and slid her finger under a thin strip of leather, pulling a necklace from beneath her shirt. The glass pendant I had made for her glinted in the starlight, and a tendril of my sand immediately encircled it. "It was your first instinct, and one strong enough that I could feel it in this little bit of sand."

"My sand," I said.

For a few seconds I stared at the pendant as comprehension dawned. The sand it contained was charged with my chakra. It was a permanent bond, a part of me, and I had chosen it for her gift out of sentiment, for what it represented. At the time I had bottled it and sent it away in Chiyo's bird, I'd had no idea it would connect our energies… our spirits in this way.

"I thought you knew," she said. I shook my head. "It's the reason why I've been so confused."

"What do you mean?"

"It all started months ago… after the festival. You started acting so strangely. Hot and cold, hot and cold. Sometimes I thought we were getting closer… that you wanted to kiss me, other times I thought you never wanted to see me again. Then… then you sent me to Iwa." Matsuri hesitated and looked away, and I could sense the hurt I had inflicted by that decision. "I thought… well, whatever this was, it's over."

I did not want to interrupt, but I felt compelled to reassure her and pulled her closer again.

"Then you sent this." Her fingers smoothed over the pendant but she would not look at me. "I could feel a connection to you right away. It was vague… nothing more than impressions, really, but it got a little stronger every day. I hinted about it to you in my letters, but couldn't come out and say it. I had a feeling that by some means… everything I sent – especially to you – was being read."

That the Tsuchikage or some member of his staff might have been reading Matsuri's private correspondence was a useful detail I would have to remember to ask about later.

"And then?" I said.

"And then things got _really_ confusing."

She still had not met my gaze again. "Tell me," I said gently.

"At first I thought… well, I thought you loved me. I thought that's what I sensed. I was so happy." She smiled but it faded quickly. "But then you stopped writing as often, and most of the impressions I got were so dark. Fear and anger and distance – like you were at war with yourself. Or me, maybe. So I started to think I was wrong… that I'd misunderstood." She closed her eyes for a moment. "But I kept having the dreams, and they were so—"

"Dreams?"

A blush warmed her face. After a moment of consideration, she leaned in close to whisper in my ear – as if she feared that somehow, someone else would overhear. "Of you and me… together… in bed. _You know._"

I could not control the shock that vibrated down my spine. "Yes. I know exactly."

She drew back to look at me, her eyes wide with surprise. "Really? You had them too?"

"Yes. It is the same dream each time. We are together, just as you say… honest, trusting, in love. But then you doubt me and disappear." It was my turn to avoid her gaze. "I wake up breathless and shattered, my sand hovering above the bed."

And it made sense to me now. In sleep our defenses are down, and the will we use to control our instinctive chakra is weakened. I had learned this truth the hard way when I was one with Shukaku; if I slept, even for a minute, the beast could emerge and my conscious will would cease to exist. Although our waking minds remained unsure of each other, Matsuri and I shared a deep instinct for intimacy that had become a connection when we slept, formed between her chakra and mine, through my sand in the pendant. Each time I had experienced the dream, or relived it in vivid detail, my sand had streamed from the gourd in response to its missing measure hundreds of kilometers away, and I had not realized the meaning.

"I did doubt you," Matsuri said softly, resting her head on my shoulder. "I was too afraid to believe the dreams… to get my hopes up. I'm sorry. Like I said, I've been confused – by you… by Setsuji."

"What about him has confused you?" I relaxed my hold on her. Although I tried to keep my tone and attitude calm, I now knew the pendant would reveal my anger.

She straightened her posture and looked me in the eye. "He is nice, Gaara, and decent. He's typical of Iwa – determined, demanding, arrogant, kind of pushy and _really_ tactless sometimes, but he's been very good to me. Just like everyone else, he assumed I had no serious ties when I was sent there." I could feel the hurt again, hear it in her voice, and it nicked at my conscience. "It's not his fault I'm in love with someone else."

Her free admission should have satisfied my jealousy but it did not. "Does he know that?"

"You mean does he know I love you?"

"Yes, that's what I mean."

"No! Of course he doesn't know!" She gripped my arms and shook them in a way that no one, not even Kankuro, would dare. "What was I supposed to tell him, Gaara? Until tonight I didn't know how you really felt or what you wanted – if you wanted me at all! For all I knew you would ask me to accept the match for political reasons! I was sent there as a cultural liaison, wasn't I?"

Matsuri sighed heavily and I could feel her frustration with me. She had always been plainspoken and honest when we were alone, and yet restrained out of respect for my position and personal reserve. But our relationship was different now. It was intimate and between equals. I could not act this way. I could not be selfish and unreasonable. Like Father. I was to blame for everything, for all the misunderstandings, for all her hurt and uncertainty. Not her.

"I am sorry," I said.

"You can't be jealous of Setsuji," she said, slipping her arms under mine and pressing against me until I held her again. Physical contact was so natural for her. "And you can't kill him."

I breathed the clean smell of her hair. "I give you my word that he will be safe from me so long as he never touches you."

A strong bolt of fear shot through her then, and my heart instantly began to pound again. He had already touched her.

The savage screamed with renewed rage. Matsuri held her breath, waiting for the reaction I knew she could sense, but I said nothing. I would deal with this man in my own time. As for Matsuri, I was a fool. As much as I hated the thought of his hands upon her in any way, for any reason, I would be a childish hypocrite if I judged her. I had done so much worse myself.

"Come with me," I said, releasing her.

I flexed my hand and sent all the sand that had been floating around us back to the gourd. How long it would stay there I did not know.

"Where are we going?"

"My other terrace. There's a small bench there that will be hidden in the shadows."

Matsuri was momentarily confused by my request, but she nodded easily. The truth was I did not wish to have this part of the conversation in my bedroom – the room I hoped to share with her soon. I did not want any negative associations for her here. Even if it was only in a small way, I preferred to keep my horrific history from staining the future if I possibly could. The terrace would be a safer place. It was neutral.

I headed down the hall and about midway she took hold of my hand. I wondered if I would ever get used to the novelty. We walked through my studio and I led her out onto the small terrace. It was perfectly dark, as I had expected, and the air was cool and sweet. We sat in silence for some time as I considered the gentlest way to tell Matsuri the truth about my past. The truth she needed to hear before this went any further.

"You're starting to scare me, Gaara," she said, her voice hushed. "What is it?"

_Let yourself be open and life will be easier._

Matsuri stared at her hands and listened quietly as I explained how, since childhood, Shukaku had groomed me for the unspeakable. How the demon had controlled my body, mind, and spirit with whispers of incoherent bloodlust. She was aware of some of it already. She knew that when I had reached my majority I had murdered enemies at Father's command. Every shinobi in Suna knew that. But she had not known I had also murdered merely for hate's sake. For my insatiable vanity. She had not known that my soul was once so darkened by evil that I had forced my own physical pleasure on innocent young women as I took their lives. I confessed everything to her. I confessed that I had no right to touch her, to love her, or to be jealous of better men, and it was that knowledge – the reality of my unworthiness – that had kept me from admitting my feelings for her. That my unworthiness, my fear of defiling her, was the reason I had sent her away. For her own sake.

Now I could only pray she would not hate me for it. The feelings I had sensed within her when she first arrived in my room – fear, confusion, kindness, and love – were all still there, but there was no panic. As the minutes ticked by I envied her calm.

Finally, she turned to me. "No matter how it might seem, my welfare will always be at the heart of his actions," she said. Trying to read my face in the dark blue of night, she reached up and wiped away the tears I had not realized I had shed. "It's time to let go of the guilt and pain now. The man who did those things was sealed away even before the Ichibi was taken. Then you died and returned to this life as yourself. Clean. It was a new beginning."

"Are you sure you can accept me?" I whispered.

Her fingers moved to my forehead and slowly traced the kanji I had carved there years ago. "Let me ask you… have you ever shared yourself with another person out of love?"

"No."

"Then in the way that matters most, Gaara, we are equals."

I had no chance to reply before Matsuri kissed me. It was one of many. So many that I no longer knew when one kiss ended and the next began. She was melting me down with fire, slowly and deliberately, but I was grateful that the madness she inspired did not overwhelm me. After some time our pace slowed until, finally, she broke away and rested her head on my shoulder while I held her close.

"You're tired," she said.

"As my brother has said about some of his own late nights, 'nothing wrecks you like girl issues.'" Matsuri giggled and I sighed, realizing just how spent I was now that she had mentioned it. "It is really no reflection on you. I have struggled with insomnia my entire life. Are you not tired?"

"I am, but after waiting literally years to be alone with you like this… I don't want it to end." She huddled closer against me and nuzzled my ear, another sensation I had never felt before.

"It will be light soon."

Her fingertips began to glide like warm feathers across my skin. "Do you want me to go?"

"No, but you can't stay much longer. Until this political matter with Iwa is carefully resolved, we cannot reveal our bond." I lifted her chin so she would meet my gaze. I could see the heavens reflected in her eyes. "You can trust Kankuro and Temari with anything you would say to me, but no one else."

"I understand, Kazekage-sama," she said. I forgave her for the formality when she kissed me.

When she had settled against my shoulder once more, I said, "Matsuri, why did you not simply say no when Setsuji first asked you?"

"Because I didn't know what you would want me to do." She had said it softly, but I could still sense pain. "You sent me there – I thought – to improve the relationship and understanding between our lands. Do you remember the day I left? How in your office you warned me that the Tsuchikage was ruthless and I should not provoke him for any reason?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, I would have done just that if I'd humiliated Setsuji with an insulting rejection."

"Not wishing to marry someone you have only just met is an insulting rejection?"

"In Iwagakure?" Her empty laugh was warm against my neck. "Yes. Because from their perspective I have no right to say no."

"I don't understand."

"They're not total chauvinists, exactly, but… I have no family, no money, no position, and no man in my life. What sensible woman would reject a young, handsome guy from an elite and wealthy clan who's been nice to her? In their world it's not done."

"You consider him handsome?"

Her finger tapped in the center of my chest. "Don't get wound up again. I mean he's considered – _in general_ – to be good-looking." Matsuri lifted her head from my shoulder to look at me. "Honestly? Setsuji reminds me too much of that Deidara of Akatsuki. I try not to think about it, because I know it's not Setsuji's fault, but—"

She shivered then, and I tightened my arm around her. I had not noticed the resemblance, but there were significant gaps in my memory from that time. I had only recently learned from Temari that Matsuri had been among the first to volunteer for the recovery mission the night I was captured by Deidara. It was strange to look back on those events now and know with certainty that she had loved me even then.

I took my time kissing the frown from her lips. "And you do have a man in your life," I said.

"Now, maybe, but Setsuji knows I _didn't_ when he asked me to marry him. That's the problem."

Every answer she gave drove home the point that I was responsible for the circumstances we found ourselves in. "I'm sorry, Matsuri. I never meant for any of this—"

"And it wasn't like I was expecting him to propose," she went on, skirting my useless apology. "I was so shocked. I panicked, and the only loophole I could think of to diplomatically put it off – until I could talk to you – was an old Iwa custom I had come across while I was studying their culture."

"That I have the final authority to grant or withhold approval of the marriage because you are fatherless and under my command," I said.

She squinted in irritation. "You mean the Tsuchikage already wrote you about that too?"

"Yes."

Matsuri growled. "See what I mean? Pushy."

"Yes, I am familiar with the Tsuchikage's ways."

"Suna doesn't have the same custom, so it doesn't apply. Setsuji is here to study our culture now. It won't take him long to figure it out, and then he'll know I lied to them, Gaara. It's going to make them question my respect for their values – my motives, and the credibility of my mission there. It's going to make them question your motives and credibility, too." Matsuri was quiet for a while before she said, "He's going to keep asking to meet with you, and you can't avoid him forever. He expects to easily win your approval."

I tilted my head back and cast a grim smile at the stars. I did not fully understand my options yet, or have a clear idea of the best way to manage this situation within the demands of my duty, but there was one thing I did know: Setsuji was never going to win my approval.

"It is not what Setsuji expects but what the Tsuchikage expects that concerns me," I said, gently urging her to sit up straight. Although we were still in shadow, I stood and shielded Matsuri from view. "We need to think and act carefully, Matsuri, and that means you must go home."

She did not protest, or speak at all as we made our way back to my bedroom door. Once we reached it she slid her hands behind my neck and leaned against me, and I did not hesitate to kiss her. Perhaps it was because this love was new that it seemed to mean everything. Perhaps it was not knowing when we could be together again. Maybe it was both. But I did not want to let her go.

I had managed to keep the fire from burning out of control before, and yet now I was kissing her too hungrily, too desperately, and Matsuri did nothing but encourage my searching hands. I had to stop now or never.

"Take the service stairway and stay in the shadows until you are home," I said, breathing raggedly against her ear.

Matsuri nodded and began to back away, slipping out of my grasp. She opened the door and crossed the threshold, hesitating just long enough to smile at me before, together, we slid the door closed.

She was finally mine and yet she was not.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Heartfelt thanks to all who have left reviews. It really means a lot. I said I was going to reply to them, and I will, but I decided to use the time I had to work on this update instead.

This was a difficult chapter to write, and I'd love to know what you think.


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